


Raising Alexander

by Ghelik



Series: The 100 Fics [66]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-09-15 06:58:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 24,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: Snippets into the life of one Bellamy Blake





	1. First Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> This happens in the same universe as "Missing you already", but you don't need to read that one to understand this since they're both pretty self-contained.

Bellamy is used to looking after his mom. She’s often tired and worried, so she doesn’t have much time to play with him, or to empty the ashtray on the wobbly coffee table in the living room, or to cook dinner. Bellamy is her little man, and it’s his job to make sure mom is happy.

He likes looking after her because he loves her.

Bellamy loves fiercely, unconditionally, just like mom loves him.

That’s why she trusted him to help with this important mission: why she trusted him to keep calm and not cry while she screamed, why she knew he would cut the slimy umbilical cordon and swat the small body in towels. It’s icky, but mom needs him to be grown up for this, to help her lie down in the rusty bathtub, and look after the screaming baby.

“That’s your sister,” whispers mom, her bony hand on his shoulder. It smells of cigarettes and beer and just a hint of lavender cologne. Her cloudy brown eyes stare at him for a whole minute. “Take care of her for me, will you?”

“Yes, mom.”

She smiles, but she’s nearly passed out already. “My good boy.” Her hand falls off his shoulder. “I would be lost without-“ she trails off leaving him with the small dirty baby.

It’s heavy and big in his six-year-old grasp. He cleans the baby’s face with the edge of the towel, rocking it instinctually. Bellamy knows he needs to clean the baby up and swat her in the fuzzy blanket they bought for her in Wallmart two weeks ago.

He fills the bathroom sink with warm water and pours some of his Spiderman soap on the soft sponge he likes so much. The baby gurgles happily when he cleans it up and kicks him in the face with her tiny fist when he dries her up. He has to climb on a chair to put her on the changing table and then has to figure out how the diapers work. She’s screaming by the time he’s managed to fasten it.

“Shhhh!” Bellamy picks the baby up; his shoulders ache with her weight. “Sh! Mom is sleeping, you need to be quiet, or she’ll wake up grumpy.”

The baby continues to scream, her face turning bright red, body arching off his arms and he’s terrified she’ll fall. Mom has told him how soft babies are, how careful one has to be with them. That’s the reason why she hasn’t been to work for the past three months; babies need a lot of attention and rest. “You need to be quiet.”

He takes her to the living room and sits with her on the worn couch. The purple cushions smell of cigarettes and mom’s lavender perfume. He rocks the baby in his arms and does what old Mrs. Gregory always does when he’s in a bad mood: he tells her a story. Old Mrs. Gregory has told him everything about the Roman Empire: their goods and their history, the gory battles and the icky love stories with the kisses. He likes the story about Brutus stabbing Cesar, but the baby doesn’t stop crying until he tells her about Octavia, Emperor Augustus’ sister.

She stares up at him with an unhappy frown around her small lips and bright gray eyes. “Octavia,” Bellamy whispers, and she makes a noise like what mom does when she’s concentrating. He touches a finger to her small chin; it’s velvety soft and pale like mom’s. “Do you like that name, Octavia?”

She puts his finger in her mouth and Bellamy takes that as confirmation. He feels a warmth spreading in his chest, something he has never felt for anyone, not even mom. “I won't let anything bad happen to you, Octavia. I promise.”

“You named her?” Bellamy’s head snaps up. Mom is shaking where she leans against the doorframe.

“She likes Octavia. Like Augustus’ sister.”

Mom clicks her tongue with distaste. She dislikes Old Mrs. Gregory as much as Bellamy enjoys the time he spends in her cozy house.

“You named her,” says mom sitting beside him and taking the baby from his arms and putting her to her breast. “That makes her your responsibility.”


	2. LAST BIRTHDAY

Bellamy’s spends his thirteenth birthday pushing lawnmowers and pulling out weeds from every garden in a four-bock radius. Across Dr. Packson’s street, he sees two boys playing with water guns. They laugh and shriek so loudly he finds himself wondering where their moms are. Don’t they have migraines? Part of him longs to join them. He continues pushing the suborn lawnmower over Dr. Packson’s lawn.

It’s late afternoon when he finally gets home to find Octavia sitting on the front porch playing with a doll he got her two years ago. Her dark brown hair combed in ponytails and her jeans caked in mud. She smiles brightly as soon as he sees him, trotting up to him as he parks his bike in the cramped garage. Mom’s white sedan’s there, even though it’s the middle of the day and she should be at work.

Bellamy is tired but obliges when she asks for a piggyback ride around the house– he should mow both front and back lawns sometime this week; they’re starting to look very unkempt.

They are laughing, sprawled on the grass when Mrs. Gregory comes to the rickety fence separating their houses. She’s an old, wrinkly lady, perpetually tied back silky white hair and perfectly applied nail polish. Bellamy loves the deep red of her nail polish and the texture of her cashmere scarves. “Good afternoon, children.” She speaks with an authority that makes Bellamy stand a little straighter and chew with his mouth closed. Octavia grins her gap-toothed smile at her. “Won’t you two come in to get a piece of lemon cake?”

Bellamy loves old Mrs. Gregory’s house. It’s tidy and cozy, bookshelves blanketing the walls and an upright piano that belonged to Mr. Gregory before he passed away.

“We don’t need your charity, old hag!”

Bellamy grits his teeth. Aurora leans heavily against the crooked screen door. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, but most of it has escaped the scrunchie and hangs around her gaunt face. She’s wearing a loose blue dress, miss-matched socks, and dirty trainers.

Mrs. Gregory’s smile doesn’t waver at the insult, her voice calm and as composed as always. “It’s not charity, Ms. Blake, just a treat for the little ones. They are at that age where they need to eat as much as they possibly can.”

“They eat plenty at home. Thank you for your concern. Bellamy, Octavia, come inside.”

Bellamy doesn’t want to go. He likes Mrs. Gregory, lemon cake is his favorite, and she always slips him a few dollars that are just for him. “But-!”

“Now, now, children. You heard your mother. Off you go.”

He wants to defy his mom. Wants to jump over the fence and stuff his face with Mrs. Gregory’s homemade cooking. His stomach growls in agreement.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Gregory,” Bellamy says and follows O to the house.

“Ah! Young Mr. Blake.” He stops and turns. “I have a little something to celebrate your birthday. When you have a moment, swing by.”

“It’s not his birthday,” snaps Aurora.

“Why, it’s the seventh of May. That’s his birthday, isn’t it, Bellamy?”

He opens his mouth to answer. “I think I know when my son’s birthday is, Felicia.” She pushes Bellamy into the living room and smashes the screen door close at their backs.

Octavia looks up at him with a frown. “Is it your birthday?”

“Of course it’s not,” snaps Aurora angrily.

Bellamy shrugs, “why don’t we play dolls in your room, O?”

The girl trots happily away.

That night, when Octavia’s sleeping, he pads out of the room. Aurora’s knitting sat in her favorite chair in the living room. He sits beside her and picks the small embroidery hoop from the basket. Mom has been teaching him needlework since he was old enough to hold a needle without trying to eat it, and they often spend a few hours a night like this: sitting side by side, working while something plays as background noise on the TV.

“Why did you lie to Mrs. Gregory?”

“That bitch should mind her own business,” grumbles mom.

“She only wanted to give us some pie.”

“She wanted to show off, make sure everyone knows how useless I am.”

Bellamy frowns. “Mrs. Gregory is not like that. She’s very kind.”

Aurora barks a laugh. “Kind, my ass. There are no kind people out there, Bellamy. Nothing free, either.” He bites the inside of his cheek, thinking of the small stash of dollars hidden under his mattress.

“She never asked for anything of me.”

“That’s because she believes we are poor, that we need her stinking charity.” Mom puts her bony hand on his knee; her eyes are very earnest when he looks up. “Never accept charity, from anyone, Bell. And beware of the kindness of strangers. They want to own you, and once they do, there’s no going back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting


	3. PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER

That Monday, Mr. Pike enters the classroom followed by a life-sized Barbie doll.

With wavy golden hair, blue eyes and a body that’s way curvier than any of Bellamy’s classmates, the new girl strides with confidence no new student should have.

“Kids this is Clarke Griffin. Why don’t you tell your new classmates a little bit about you?”

The girl looks around the room like she expects them to bow before her. Her voice is deep and slightly raspy. Bellamy feels instinctively drawn to her. Clarke’s from Washington. Her mom is a lawyer and her dad, an engineer who's been relocated to Arkadia to work on the power plant a few miles up north. She arches her eyebrows at them like she’s daring them to make some comment. When nobody does, Mr. Pike has her take a seat beside Bellamy on the second row.

Bellamy hates her before the class is over.

Throughout her first week at school Bellamy discovers Clarke Griffin is smart, quick and more arrogant than confident. She struts around school like she owns the place, which earns her the moniker “Princess” and an entourage of popular girls and cool boys. Clarke smiles politely, but her aloofness doesn’t allow any of them anywhere close, which is something that gets on Bellamy’s nerves but seems to make people try harder to earn her approval.

It takes him three days to start purposefully antagonizing her. He wants her to know he is not impressed, he won’t back away or show her any deference.

Clarke throws herself gleefully into any discussion with him, which is not what he intended, but it's way more fun like this. 

This is how, two weeks after the Princess' arrival, they end up sitting across their English teacher after class. Mrs. Vera Kane stares at them for a very long moment, letting the ticking of the clock over the chalkboard get on their nerves.

Bellamy knows this teacher; she teaches religion to the middle schoolers and literature to the younger high schoolers. Back in middle school, Bellamy was one of her favorite pupils, and there is no reason why that has to change. There’s no reason for Clarke fucking Griffin to mess that up.

The blonde sits primly on one of the chairs she’s dragged to stand across the teacher’s desk. Bellamy kicks his legs, sitting on top of one of the tables. Someone has doodled a screaming punk head. Someone else added a crude dick. Neither are very good.

“What seems to be the problem between you two?” asks Mrs. Vera Kane, her kind gray eyes jumping from the new girl to him.

“There is no problem,” grumbles Bellamy. He doesn’t want to be the first to admit it was wrong to argue like that in class, not when Clarke has that defiant look on.

“I don’t know what the fuss is about;” sniffs the Princess staring down the side of her nose. “In my previous school debate was encouraged.”

“We encourage debates, Clarke. But not at the expense of other pupil’s time. And you two have disrupted the class and caused quite a big fuss, preventing your peers from learning.”

Clarke frowns her pretty little lips. “Everyone was welcomed to participate.”

Mrs. Kane clicks her tongue and Bellamy makes an effort not to groan. This is going to take forever when the only thing their teacher wanted was for them to say they’re sorry.

“It seems to me you want to punish Bellamy and me for showing interest in the subject.”

“Are you implying you don’t feel properly challenged in class, Clarke?”

“It is obvious that some of us” she inclines her head slightly towards Bellamy, which he guesses is a compliment, “are brighter than others. And you only called us here because that fact was made evident.”

“You really should work on your tact, princess.”

Mrs. Kane turns to him raising an eyebrow, but Clarke either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. “You must admit you are brighter than the rest of our class.”

“Is that so, Bellamy?” asks Mrs. Kane with her soft voice and calm demeanor.

“I don’t think I am smarter than anyone,” says Bellamy carefully, “I only argued because it was fun.”

Mrs. Kane hums, which is the perfect moment to says sorry and try getting out of this as quickly as possible; he can’t afford to waste any more time here, his shift at the café starts in an hour and a half. “I am sorry for disrupting class, Mrs. Kane.”

Clarke throws him a withering glare.

“Well, it seems we might have found two new members for the debate team.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting


	4. A TEAM

When Bellamy gets home Octavia’s sitting at the wobbly kitchen table, looking dejectedly at her math homework while chewing on a cold sandwich. Bellamy makes a mental notice to cook something for her to eat tomorrow. “Hey O.”

She looks up at him with teary eyes. “There’s no use, Bell! I am not smart enough”

Studying has always been easy for Bellamy and at fifteen he’s not the best of the class, but his grades are steady and pretty good in almost every subject. Octavia’s, on the other hand, aren’t. She has troubles concentrating, finds studying hard and uninteresting and is failing a lot of her classes. “Of course you are.” Bellamy leaves his waiters pouch on the counter and sits down beside her. “We’ll do it together, ok? There’s nothing we can’t do together.” So, they tackle one problem after the other. Him explaining the theory for the hundredth time, and her answering the questions painstakingly slowly.

Bellamy tramples the urge to do it himself and send her off to bed. She needs to master her school assignments, needs to understand and get better if she wants a better future than the one that awaits him. She _will_ have a better future.

They are a team, Octavia and Bellamy. There is not a single thing on this earth they can’t weather together. He’ll walk to the ends of the world to get her everything she might need, anything she might want. And Octavia is his rock, the reason for his existence. He’d be completely lost without her.

It takes them two hours but they finish the worksheet. When she leaves for bed, Bellamy pulls his own homework from his backpack, switches the stove on and puts some water to boil. He’ll make rice and leave chicken breasts out for O to fry when she comes back home from school. – He needs to go to the store and get more milk, and detergent.

The book he has to read for class is boring, the words swimming before his eyes no matter how often he blinks. When he looks up his mom is standing at the door. Her hair pulled into a tidy bun and she’s wearing bright purple lipstick. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I need to finish my reading.”

She wanders over to the fridge, followed by the smell of cigarettes and lavender cologne. He likes it, that’s how safety and the cushions of their couch smell. Aurora drinks water directly from the bottle, leaving lipstick smeared on the blue glass. She doesn’t wipe it away before setting the bottle back into the fridge. “I don’t know why you bother with that. It’s not like it will make a difference.”

Bellamy leaves the book beside Octavia’s plate, the crust of her sandwich still there, and stirs the pot. He forgot to put the rice in. He pours three cups into the boiling water and sets the timer. “Where’s your sister?”

“Sleeping.”

Aurora hums, unzips his change belt and takes a few bills out, rolls them and pushes them into her bra.“I am going out. Don’t wait up.”

“Mom?” He isn’t sure what he was going to say, and when she looks at him with her delicate arched eyebrows, he can only smile. “Have fun.”

Aurora clicks her tongue and hugs him, pressing him tightly against her bony frame. “You are a good boy,” she kisses his cheek and ruffles his hair. “I would be lost without you.”

Bellamy watches her leave.

He knows most of his peers don’t have to work, knows their mothers cook them meals and take care of laundry and bills. But he also knows that his mom loves him and Octavia, and she’s doing her best.

Bellamy stirs the pot and tries not to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading


	5. A necessary sacrifice

Bellamy likes going to school. Even if he’s tired and sore most of the time, even if he doesn’t have many friends and some of the subjects seem useless. He likes the smell of the classrooms, the quietness of the library and the heaviness he feels at the end of the day like his head will fall off with how much has been crammed in. He likes the worn books and stationery. He likes debating with Clarke Griffin and watching the football team training on the field, likes making out with Roma West under the bleachers and even the smell of weed from the bathroom next to the biology classrooms.

When he gets his grades at seventeen, he does with the knowledge that this is the last time he will walk down these halls, sit on these chairs, listen to these teachers or share a meal with these classmates. He knows he will most likely never see his peers again, or, if he does, it will be when he’s serving them their dinner or selling them an overpriced pair of sneakers. He knows Roma will forget about him and Wick won’t even notice he isn’t there and will never call and Clarke will never ever speak to him again.

Bellamy knows that his mom has been jobless for over five months now and that she won’t find a new job, mainly because she isn’t looking for one. He knows that there are bills that need paying and food that has to be put on the table. He also knows Octavia will have a future, even if it comes at the cost of his, she will have everything, because she deserves better. So he empties his locker and walks out of the school.


	6. The flight

Enlisting is the easiest choice he’s ever made. Pay is decent, and he doesn’t spend much on himself, most of what he earns goes straight to Octavia’s college fund, the rest pays for food and bills.

Octavia cries when he leaves, “You are going to die.”

“I am not going to die, O.”

“Charlotte’s dad was a soldier, and he died.”

“Come on, O. I will go to boot camp, graduate early and then they’ll sit me at some mall to recruit people. I will probably never see combat in my life.”

He does do whatever he can to graduate early.

He wishes he could be around more. O has always been a troublemaker, she needs attention their mother isn’t equipped to deal with, and he can’t give her. But she also needs a future.

He has fun in the army, makes friends, people respect him for some reason. They call him Mom behind his back. Murphy calls him Mom to his face, and he doesn’t mind. He has never had a nickname before. He never had close friends either, always too busy and too tired to do much of anything with his peers. But here his squad is like a little family. Murphy, who looks younger than Bellamy and is more cynic than him; Miller, who has a dry sense of humor and the ability to make everyone squirm with one look; Raven, who is the smartest person Bellamy has ever met, Monty, who shouldn’t be in the army; Jasper, who shouldn’t have been allowed on the army and somehow manages to be both a great sniper and stoned half the time; and Monroe, who is the first to die.

Bellamy will always feel responsible for Monroe’s death.


	7. Cage

His twentieth birthday is pretty uneventful if you don’t take into account the fact that he’s been beaten within an inch of his life and thrown into a tiny, smelly cage.

Bellamy looks around the room, his heart beating hard against his chest. He’s in pain, he’s terrified, and every time he closes his eyes the only thing he can see is Monroe’s terrified face as she tries to breathe.

He tries to concentrate on the room around him: Gray concrete walls lined with cages much like the one he’s currently in and a rusty metal door. Their captors wear creepy gasmasks and sturdy black PVC gloves. The overhead lights hum incessantly. He tries the front of the cage. It’s padlocked, but he pulls on it and rattles the front anyway. He can feel panic setting in. He can’t be in a cage. He promised Octavia he’d come back, he cannot be in here, he…

“Hey! Lieutenant!”

His whole cage rattles. Bellamy feels the shock in his teeth. That’s when he notices his fingers clawed around the bars, the stiffness in his limbs. He’s shaking head to toe.

“Lieutenant. Look at me.”

It takes all of his willpower to move the frozen muscles in his neck to the cage to his left. It takes him a moment to identify the mass of bloody rags and open wounds as a woman. Her hair is clumped and dirty hanging around her face, one of her eyes is swollen shut, the other stares at him with a fire he finds slightly terrifying.

Her name is Echo. She’s also a soldier and has been here over a week. They’re in a prisoner camp called The Mountain.

Every so often the Mountain Men take someone out of their cage and into a small windowless room where they have their fun with whomever they’ve chosen. Bellamy isn’t sure what they want from him, only that, after a few hours in that room, he would’ve given them anything to make them stop.

When they aren’t being tortured, there isn’t much to do inside the cages, so he and Echo talk. She tells him about her stepbrothers and their crazy mother. He tells her about Octavia and his mom. She tells him about the Swedish boarding school where she was sent as a kid. He tells her he wanted to become a teacher, when he was a kid who still though he could have a future.

He’s more frightened when they take her away than when they drag him out of the cage. She’s unconscious when they bring her back, the rags she’s dressed in soaked in blood and doing very little to cover her.

“Echo? Are you ok?”

Her face is black and blue, her eyes so swollen she can barely open them. They’ve smashed at least two of her teeth, and her hand’s swatted in dirty rags.

“I wanted to visit Japan,” her voice is a barely-there whisper, the words marred by the missing teeth. “I should’ve gone backpacking at eighteen, but I never did.”

Bellamy curls against the bars of his cage. His hand is too big to pass through the bars, but he manages to touch her knee. “Why Japan?”

“Because I’ve never been there.”

“Hey. Look at me.” She does so with difficulty. “You will go. When you’re over there, send me a postcard?”

She tries to smile, blood is oozing out of the corner of her lips. She spits it out. “There’s no escaping the Mountain Men, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, there is.”

Bellamy doesn’t know how long he is in the tender care of the Mountain Men. It’s probably a few weeks. It feels like a century.

When they manage to escape, he has to lean on Echo, because his leg is messed up. He’s flown back home and spends a week in the hospital. Octavia comes to visit every day, she sits by his bed and does homework, tells him about school and her friends. One day, she comes in when he’s pulling a shirt on. She stares at the scars on his back long after they’ve been hidden. “What happened to you, Bell?”  

Bellamy licks his lips. He knows he can’t protect Octavia from all the evils of the world, but one thing he knows for sure: she will never know about the Mountain Men. There’s no reason for her to know about those monsters. So he spins a lie that will make her laugh and tease him relentlessly.

Aurora visits once: she’s pale-faced and thinner than he’s ever seen her, her flowery summer dress hangs off her bony shoulders, hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Under the stench of stale beer, she smells of cigarettes and lavender cologne. When she embraces him, Bellamy feels safe for the first time since he went overseas. He burrows into her arms, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ve missed you so much,” he sobs into the thin cloth of her dress.

Her fingers are like cold and unfeeling claws, the blunt fingernails digging on the backs of his hands. Aurora stares at him with her dull brown eyes.

He wants to tell her about the Mountain Men, about the terrors that haunt him whenever he’s alone, about the pain and about his friends. Wants to tell her about all he has learned, everyone he has met; everything he has seen in the past three years. His mom passes out before he has the chance. That is the last time Bellamy sees his mom alive.

She hangs herself the next morning. And maybe if he never enlisted, if he never came back if he had done a better job he might have been able to prevent it.

His leg never heals right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	8. Unexpected

Bellamy stares at the coffee maker. In the background the morning rush has finally died down, the shop is practically empty but for a few students typing away on their computers.

Five months ago he was overseas, dodging enemy fire, his team at his back. It wasn’t what he always dreamed of doing with his life, but at least it wasn’t dull.

His thigh throbs, the knee hurts like a bitch – it will rain later today, did he leave the laundry outside?

He is barely aware of the click of high-heeled shoes coming closer, but his mind doesn’t register the sound until someone raps their fingers annoyingly on the counter at his back.

Five months ago he was punching his way out of a prisoner cap, a makeshift tourniquet around his leg and two broken fingers. The warm body of Echo under his arm, growling at him " _don't you dare die on me_."

Now he fixes a smile on his face, tries very hard not to roll his eyes and turns to the new customer.

It’s a tall woman in a charcoal suit, crisp white blouse and hair pulled back into one of those buns that look like a donut. She blinks at him, full lips pulling into a crooked smile. “I don’t believe it,” she has a slight accent he can’t place. Her voice sounds familiar. “What are you doing here, Lieutenant?”

Bellamy blinks. There’s only one person that calls him Lieutenant, and that’s “Echo?”

She chuckles. “The one and only. Don’t tell me you didn’t recognize me?” she fakes a pout.

“In my defense, you look very different with both eyes open and all your teeth.”

She sniffs, raising her sharp nose to the air. “Is that a way to talk to a lady?”

“I didn’t realize there was a lady present.” They both laugh. Her smile is beautiful. “What brings you here anyway?”

“I need greasy food, or I’ll kill my boss. What about you? Weren’t you cleared for duty after…?” she makes a vague, elegant gesture with her right hand. Even beaten within an inch of her life, Echo was weirdly elegant with her long limbs and flowing movements.

“No. I-” he clears his throat. “I couldn’t go back. My mom died. Someone had to stay to take care of O.”

She hums, looks around the coffee shop. “So, how many jobs are you juggling right now?”

“Way less than you think,” he tries for nonchalance, but it sounds tired even to his own ears.

“Blake!” calls the manager from the other side of the shop. He’s a freckly, shaggy-haired teen Bellamy wants to punch. “Flirt on your own time!”

Echo’s eyes sparkle as she bends forward over the counter and whispers conspiratorially: “Do you need help dealing with your current tyrant?”

“As much as I’d like to murder King Jeofrey over there, I need this job.”

“Every penny counts?”

It is strange, how this person he met only for a few weeks seems to know him so well. Then again, when they weren’t being tortured, there wasn’t much to do in the cages. “Every penny counts.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll take a cronut filled with strawberry jam, whipped cream and chocolate sauce on top.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted something greasy.”

“It’s my comfort food since I wasn’t cleared for combat after our little meet up with the Mountain Men.”

“Why?” he asks without meaning to.

“The shrink said I was unstable.” She has raised her voice, and it takes a moment to register the fact that her eyes have wandered to his manager. Her smile is suddenly dangerous. The teen squirms and hurries away to pretend he has something to do. “So, since Roan is determined not to let me starve, I am currently head of security at Az-Corp.” Her eyes glide back to Bellamy. “We’re hiring.”

“I can’t run anymore,” he says, concentrating on preparing her order, too ashamed to look her in the eye. He throws some cookie chips on top of the whipped cream, mainly because he remembers her telling him about them in the cages.

“It pays better than this shithole, and I could set you up with one of the formation programs. Their scholarships aren’t half bad, and as the single responsible person for a minor, you qualify nicely.” She takes a small card from her purse. It’s white, heavier than it looks, with thick granny paper and bold black letters. The logo of Az-Corp etched in silver on the top. “You wanted to become a teacher?”

The manager snorts. Bellamy ignores him.

“What’s the catch?”

“You would be working for my stepmom. Who is a bitch. Other than that, it’s a sweet deal.”

In Bellamy’s experience, everything comes at a prize. “Why are you offering me a job?”

Echo is blunt; she doesn’t tiptoe around. “Because you saved my life in that cage. And I know you, and your place isn’t behind a counter of a run-down café, taking shit from a child.” She sets two perfectly folded bills and her elegant business card on the counter. “Think about it. And even if you don’t take the job, call me sometime.” Her predatory smile holds so many promises, Bellamy feels his knees going weak  for completely non-weather-related reasons. “I’d very much like to fuck you against the floor to ceiling window in my apartment.”

She walks away with her giant pastry and Bellamy’s left there dumbfounded, staring at her with her cash in one hand and a possible future in the other.


	9. Luck

Taking Echo’s job offer isn’t a hard decision to make.

He’s convinced she pushes his application to get him an interview within the week. He isn’t sure he’s qualified to do the job, mainly because the description is as vague as possible.

He looks up at the chrome skyscraper, trying not to fidget in his borrowed suit. It belonged to Mrs. Gregory’s late husband, and it’s a little too big for him, the shirt still smells faintly of mothballs, and the tie feels like a leash that’s going to choke him.

Bellamy parks his bike and adjusts the jacket.

The town of Arkadia is small, and this is the only skyscraper in it. Nobody knows why the King family decided to build their headquarters in Arkadia, instead of doing it in Polis, which is a much larger city . What everyone knows is that Az-Corp has brought a lot of newcomers to the Arkadia, and local businesses that were slowly suffocating have been able to resurface.

The building itself isn’t ugly. The sleek silvery lines and endless windows have a sort of harsh elegance to it. But it looks out of place next to the small downtown three-story neoclassic buildings. It looms dangerously over him, a raised middle finger to the sun, a dark shadow over the wide coble-stoned streets.

When he manages to get his nerves under control, Bellamy crosses the glass doors and walks down the marble foyer to the counter. A woman in a nice blouse and slightly orange makeup smiles ironically at him.

“I am Bellamy Blake. I'm here for the interview.”

She stares at him for a moment too long, like she can’t believe he could have the gal to come here and talk to her. After a moment she starts typing on her computer, long light blue fingernails flying quickly over the black keys, filling the foyer with a soft tapping sound.

“Name?”

“Bellamy Blake.”

The woman – Stacy, if her nametag is to be believed- frowns, picks up a silver phone and speaks quietly for a moment. “Mr. King will be here shortly, please wait over there.”

Bellamy wanders over to the chairs on the foyer’s left corner and takes a seat. He isn’t sure how long he’s waiting, fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt and thinking of a thousand and one good reasons why he shouldn’t be here.

And then Roan King materializes beside him.

“Bellamy?” He stands up so quickly he nearly topples over. “A pleasure to meet you. My name is Roan. Please follow me”.

Roan is an imposing man, with razor-sharp cheekbones, aquiline eyes and long hair pulled back in a man-bun that manages to look intriguing instead of ridiculous. His crisp black suit fits his huge frame like a glove, and his well-trimmed beard only accentuate his sharp features.

Bellamy follows Roan into the elevator, where a single glance at the mirror lets him know just how inadequate he is when compared to the older man. Yet, he refuses to let Roan know how intimidated he is. So he squares his shoulders and does what he’s done all his life: moves forward. He follows Roan into a small conference room. The man has him sit on a straight-backed chair, and stares intently at him for a moment.

“So you are the guy who saved Echo’s life.”

“We saved each other.”

The man nods. “And you are taking care of a minor. High-school pregnancy?”

“Little sister. I am her legal guardian.”

Roan hums, looks down at Bellamy’s CV. “Echo tells me you wanted to become a teacher. And that you will be applying for our academic programs in the future.”

“I haven’t decided about that.”

Roan stares at him through his eyelashes, a smirk playing on the corners of his thin-lipped mouth.

The interview goes by in a blur and by the time it's over Bellamy can't remember a single word he's said. Somehow, Roan's smiling at him. It is a twisted, slightly ironic and definitely unsettling smile. Bellamy does not trust this man, but he can't help the little sommersault his heart does when Roan King says: “Welcome to Az-Corp, Mr. Blake. I’ll forward you the papers for our scholarship programs.


	10. Guilt

When he gets home, Octavia is making out with her boyfriend on the couch. Lincoln Woods is a year older than her. Six feet two of muscle and soft mannerisms; as quick to smile as he is to brood. Bellamy would prefer it if he didn’t sport that many tattoos, but he’s kind and soft-spoken, and maybe some of it will rub off on his sister.

Ever since their mom died, Octavia has been angry, angrier than before, short-tempered, and violent. She has been suspended from school for fighting once already, and Bellamy knows it will happen again. She’s prone to throwing tantrums and heavy objects in his general direction. He isn’t sure if she’s turned against her friends, too, but they’ve started deserting her; the only one still sticking around being Lincoln.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Bellamy asks O’s boyfriend.

He won’t lie: it’s weird seeing his baby sister making out. It feels wrong because in his mind's eye she’s still that curious twelve-year-old that waited for him under the flickering porch light and wanted nothing but to play Mario Kart with him. But if Lincoln is someone O can lean on, someone who will help her get over all the shit and grief, he won’t interfere. Hell, he even buys her condoms (his sister won't be like their mom. A teenage pregnancy will not clip cut O's wings)

“I probably should get going,” says Lincoln. He rubs O’s arm and pecks her quickly on the lips before standing up and hurrying off with a quick “see you at school, O.”

Annoyed, Octavia huffs and crosses her arms over her chest when the door closes behind him. “Thanks a lot, Bellamy.”

Bellamy puts a pot on the stove, turns it on and leaves for his room to change out of his suit. His paycheck is coming up, and he needs a new outfit and shirts for his new job. Washing the one shirt he has every day is wearing the cloth down way too quickly. Maybe they can go to the mall this weekend; he could treat O to some new clothes or whatnot.

“Come, set the table,” he tells O, who is sprawled on the couch, playing on her phone. The teen sighs loudly and drags her feet to the kitchen. “How was school?”

“Fine.”

“And the English test?”

"Fine."

"You are using protection with Lincoln, right?"

“What is this? Why are you interrogating me?”

“I only want to know about your day.”

“Why? You don’t get enough of people’s lives watching cameras all day?”

Bellamy presses his lips together, counts to ten and asks “What’s wrong with my job, O?”

“You are aware that Az-Corp is destroying the rain forest, right?”

He frowns. “Since when do you care about the rain forest?” It’s the wrong thing to ask, but her answer comes so out of left field he can’t help it.

“They are destroying the world, and you are helping them.”

Bellamy pinches the bridge of his nose. “They are paying for your college, O.”

She slams a plate on the table. The sound, like a gunshot, has his heart razing. It takes him a second to remember where he is. Octavia hasn't noticed. Thank god. “-occurred to you that maybe I don’t want to go to college?”

He turns so quickly towards her; he burns his hand on the pot. “What?”

“I don’t want to go to college.” Octavia pushes her chin out in defiance like their mom used to do. Bellamy forces himself to remain calm.

“Ok, so what do you want to do?”

O crosses her arms across her chest.

“I don’t know yet.”

“As is normal. You’re only sixteen. You still have time to decide. I am doing this for you.”

She narrows her eyes, wandering over to the drawer where he keeps all the important documents like bills and taxes. “Are you? Are you really?”

“Yes, Octavia. Everything I do I do for you.”

Octavia barks an unhappy laugh. “You are such a filthy liar!” She pulls the drawer open and throws the scholarship papers on the table, nearly knocking one of the glasses to the ground. “You are doing this so _you_ can go back to school. It’s like enlisting all over again. You only want to leave!”

From the desk, the papers glare accusingly at him. The ground has been pulled from under him, and he’s plummeting across the darkness, nowhere to grasp, no way to stop.

“I didn’t enlist to leave you, Octavia. We needed the money…”

“You loved it!”

‘ _Yes, O_ ,’ he wants to spit ‘ _I loved being shot at and caged and tortured and coming back with a limp and night terrors.’_ But he doesn’t because it’s true: he had fun. He loved being a part of something bigger than himself, bigger than just being Octavia’s caretaker, feeling like his work mattered, that he could make a difference. He loved having close friends and sharing drinks and jokes and finally having meaningful relationships. Yes, the Mountain Men were scary, he spent nights unable to sleep and days with only stale rations, he was under fire, and he lost Monroe and got a bullet into his shoulder, but it was fun.

So he keeps his mouth shut, turns back to the stove and finishes fixing dinner. Octavia scrunches her nose in distaste, Bellamy can’t look at her. On the table, the papers are a prof of his self-interest. He didn’t take the job for O, for the better pay and better hours, he did it to get the scholarship. Echo knew it, Roan knows it, and now Octavia does, too.

His sister takes her food to her room, and he’s left alone in the kitchen, feeling unstable and ashamed.


	11. The complex world of shirts

It's raining when Bellamy parks the small sedan at the mall. Octavia has been texting the whole way and continues to do so as she steps out of the car and towards the building.

They walk side by side down the hall, there’s a recruiting desk beside the hot dog stand, two young soldiers trying to attract the attention of a group of skaters that won’t even look at them.

Octavia graces them with a sidelong glance, scrunches her nose and continues walking. Bellamy's thigh throbs as they get to the clothes store. Octavia leaves immediately to the women's section, leaving him to browse shirts by himself.

They all look the same to him, and he doesn't understand how there's such a difference in price from one to the next.

“Don’t get that one.”

Bellamy jumps half a foot in the air and Echo laughs. She's dressed in camouflage leggings, a huge green sweatshirt decorated with googly-eyes that reaches nearly to her knees, and fuzzy boots. Her long auburn hair has been pulled back into a messy bun at the top of her head giving her a disheveled appearance that still looks like a million bucks.

“Hey. What are you doing here?”

Echo raises a handful of bags. “Same as you, spending my paycheck as quickly as possible.”

Bellamy laughs. “Great minds think alike. Why shouldn’t I get this one?”

"First of all, this is not your size." Echo comes closer and takes the shirt from his hands. "You need to buy clothes in your size, especially if you are going to get a suit. There is nothing sadder than a good-looking man in an ill-fitting suit."

He snorts. “I can think of a few things sadder than that.”

"Also," she continues like he hasn't said anything, "this cloth is bad. Spending a little more in good clothes is smarter, in the long run, see?" Echo has him touching different shirts, and when he admits they all feel more or less the same, has him comparing the tags, the different percentages of materials and stuff.

“How the hell do you know so much about men’s clothes?”

“Roan is very fond of nice clothes. He’s had me running errands for him more than once. You’ve got to try these on.”

Bellamy feels himself blush when she follows him into the changing area and waits beside his stall. But when he's trying the first one, it feels natural pushing the curtain to the side for her to see. The conversation flows smoothly while he tries the second and third ones, interrupted only, when Echo inspects him, straightening his collar and pulling on the fabric to make sure it sits correctly on his shoulders, pulling it out of his pants or tucking it in. He enjoys the attention, the way her hands linger near his throat and the brief smile on her lips, the way her eyes roam over his chest and the private smirk when she pops the top button of one of the shirts open.

He remembers her words all too well. _I’d like to fuck you against the floor to ceiling window in my apartment._ Not that she has ever brought it up again, but, standing so close to her, looking at her plump lips and smelling her floral shampoo, he can’t get those words off his mind.

"You should definitely get the second and forth. Under no circumstances will you get the third." Echo clears her throat stepping back. Her eyes wander around the changing room, and Bellamy closes the curtain feeling his heart beating a mile an hour.

They walk out side by side. She's telling him about Steve from marketing, who apparently has a thing for Ontari, the CEO's secretary when Octavia intercepts them. She's carrying half a dozen plastic bags and looks murderous.

“Where have you been? I have been waiting out here for an hour!”

He feels himself flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry, O. Echo was giving me a lesson on dress shirts.”

Octavia wrinkles her nose and Bellamy knows the argument is coming, he knows she won’t let this go, she’ll find something about Echo she doesn’t like, something to tear her down.

Oblivious to his worries, Echo offers her right hand. “You must be Octavia. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Bellamy talks about you all the time.”

Octavia stares at the outstretched hand, at the considerable scar slicing the palm and the missing phalanxes of her middle and ring fingers. The moment stretches, and Bellamy hates every second of it, hates not knowing what she'll do.

“He’s never ever mentioned you,” answers Octavia, squeezing Echo’s slender hand so hard her knuckles turn white.

Bellamy wants to strangle her.

“Probably doesn’t want to bore you with corporate stuff. Anyway, I better get going. See you on Monday, Bellamy,”

Bellamy waits until she’s vanished between the isles before turning to Octavia. “That was very rude. I raised you better than that.” Octavia purses her lips. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Sorry, Bell,” she grumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	12. Cowboys vs. Aliens

COWBOYS VS ALIENS

Bellamy's twenty-second birthday looks like it's going to be a lonely affair, which is a good thing because he's two weeks away from finals and should really be studying. Octavia and Lincoln have gone to the movies and won't be coming back until after supper.

Bellamy taps his pen on his textbook.

The phone's screen's dark, no messages, no calls, not that he expected any. He hasn't celebrated his birthday in nearly ten years. It is a day like any other, and there is no reason why he should be all melancholy about being stuck at home once again. He enjoys studying, so there's nothing to complain about.

Bellamy picks the phone up.

He'll order some Tai food from his favorite place as a treat. He unlocks the screen. On the background, Octavia smiles up at him. He opens the phonebook and scrolls down. Miller's number jumps out to him. He hasn't talked to him in months. Hasn't spoken to any of the members of his squad since he came back.

He sits back, on the screen Miller's number glares back, and the truth is: he misses them. Misses the camaraderie, the company, the stupid jokes. Bellamy misses his friends.

He taps on the call button.

There is a chance Miller won’t answer, that he is still overseas, that he doesn’t want to talk….

“Miller, who is this?”

"Hi, Miller. This is Bellamy Blake."

There is a beat in which Miller remains silent. Then: “Oh, my god, Blake! It’s been too long! How have you been?”

He seems genuinely pleased to hear from him, and Bellamy feels a knot in his chest loosening.

They talk, reminiscing, catching up. Miller is still in contact with most of their squad: Raven retired when her godfather got sick a few months back and went back home to help him at the garage. Monty is still fighting overseas. Apparently, he managed to scrap enough courage to ask Harper McIntyre out. "Jasper stopped fighting," says Miller and Bellamy feels his heart twisting.

 

“How’d Monty take it?”

“Not good.”

Bellamy can only imagine. Monty and Jasper were like brothers, it is nearly impossible to picture one without the other.

He swallows the knot in his throat down. “What about Murphy?”

Miller clicks his tongue. He and Murphy never got along. "Well… Do you remember reverent Jaha?"

"Hard to forget. That guy was bat-shit crazy."

"Well, Murphy didn't take you not coming back very well. And Jaha was sort of there all the time. Murphy turned to him, and something must have happened because next thing I know Murphy's resigned and Jaha has gone into early retirement. He's fine now, apparently, but I don't know what he's up to."

They talk some more, about his new job, about his sister, about Miller’s partner and the new house they’re planning to buy. And when they finally hang up, Bellamy is left sitting alone at the rickety dinner table, his books strewn over the surface like a desolated desert. He’s suddenly acutely aware that he is completely alone and he doesn’t want to spend yet another birthday by himself.

“Echo Linna speaking.”

"Hey, Echo."

"Lieutenant!" he can nearly see her face softening, a smile lightening up her eyes. "What a nice surprise." Bellamy bites his tongue. "What can I do for you?"

“Well, I was wondering what plans you had for this evening?”

“Nothing much. Drink a glass of wine while I take a bubble bath.” There’s something exquisitely sinful in the way her voice the shapes the word bubble. His pen clatters to the floor. “Yours?”

He clears his throat and forces his head out of the gutter. “I was about to order takeout. Maybe catch some movie on Netflix.”

“Ah! Netflix and chill,” Bellamy feels a blush creeping up the back of his neck.

"I hear it's better if you have company" he blurts out, on the other side of the line Echo all but purrs. "I was wondering if you wanted to come over?"

Echo doesn't answer immediately, and during the few seconds of static, Bellamy berates himself: this was a mistake, he's read her flirting wrong, she's thinking of the best way of letting him down easy, she's his boss and she will…

“Give me twenty, Lieutenant. I’ll bring the wine.”

He can’t contain the grin that blooms across his face. “Do you want me to order you something in particular? Do you like Tai food?”

“I have never tried Tai. You’ll have to surprise me.”

Bellamy spends the eighteen minutes it takes the delivery boy to arrive worrying about the fact that he just made a booty call to his boss. Not that he had intended it to be one, really, but…

Echo arrives dressed in torn jeans and a sweatshirt that seems a few sizes too big for her frame, hair pulled back in her messy bun. When she perches cross-legged on his couch, Bellamy's heart does a weird little somersault.

He sits gingerly beside her, and they eat takeout on the couch and chat like they've done a hundred times over the last year. They've grown pretty close, Bellamy isn't sure he's ever had a friendship: one in which he can speak freely about anything, without fear of being mocked or letting someone down. She asks him about school, and even quizzes him for a bit, reassuring him that he'll ace his exams. They talk about her upcoming holidays. She will be spending them in Japan, on a trip she has been planning for years.

After they've finished their supper, Bellamy goes into the kitchen to microwave some popcorn while Echo selects a movie on Netflix. He's pouring the hot snack into a bowl when he decides this was a mistake. His friendship with Echo is too precious to jeopardize with sex. He walks out of the kitchen with his bowl and the plan to tell her.

Echo’s sprawled on his couch, a small frown marring her brow, her plump bottom lip trapped between her teeth and his brain short-circuits. He stands in the doorway holding his bowl of warm popcorn for a full minute before she rolls her head lazily towards him. “How does Aliens vs. Cowboys sound?”

“Horrible.”

Her laugh echoes in his bones. “Perfect. Come over, I want my snack.”

Bellamy isn’t sure if she’s referring to him or the popcorn. Part of him has already decided it doesn’t matter. The other is absolutely terrified.

He sits beside her on the couch.

Echo kisses him during the first five minutes of the movie. It’s tentative and tender, her soft lips molding themselves against his.

“What’s wrong, Lieutenant?” Her breath fans over his skin and his hands twitch around the ceramic bowl.

“I really don’t want stuff to change between us.”

She blushes, turns her head slightly to the side and bites her bottom lip. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had casual sex.”

"Never with a friend." _My best friend_ , he doesn't add.

Her blush intensifies, pale skin nearly glowing. He clamps his hands around the bowl to keep himself from running them through her hair. Pulling on that bun, like he's been wanting to do since he saw her at the mall all those months ago. "Neither have I," she licks her lips, and she really needs to stop doing that. "But the trust should make it better." Echo chances a look at him out of the corner of her eye. "Don't you think?"

“I don’t know.” Bellamy swallows. “Maybe we can find out?”

It is ridiculous to feel this nervous, he's not a teen, this is not the first time he hooks up. And if they don't like it, they can always call it off, they're both adults here.

By the time the second act starts, he has managed to relieve her of her pants and is losing himself in her taste.

She is riding him enthusiastically when the credits roll.

They’re both panting and sweaty when she collapses on top of him.

“Amazing movie,” says Bellamy when the silence between them becomes too heavy.

“I know, right? Should’ve watched it ages ago.”

He chances a look down at her, where she’s curling up against him, perfectly at ease in her nudity. She shivers with a content hum when he runs his hand up and down her arm. “Wanna see the sequel?”

Her eyes are big and warm pools of melted caramel. “Can’t say no to such a masterpiece, now, can I?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	13. The aftermath

Waking up beside a very sleepy and quite grumpy Echo doesn’t come with any significant revelations. He doesn't suddenly discover some previously-unknown feelings. He doesn't decide this was the best sex he ever had (it was excellent sex, though). She wakes with a groan and rolls out of his bed cursing in Swedish, looking owlishly around like she's searching for something.

"You ok?"

Echo turns, gloriously naked, and blinks twice at him. 

"Coffee?"

There's something incredibly endearing in her disheveled voice. He chuckles. "Of course."

She blinks around the room. "You want something to wear? My sister is at home."

She nods and pads to his dresser. He intercepts her before she can open his underwear drawer and pulls a discolored sweatshirt from the bottom drawer. While she showers, he goes into the kitchen to make coffee. 

He has always been an early riser. He always switches from sleep to wakefulness in a heartbeat, indulging in coffee more out of habit than real need. Echo, it seems, needs her time. 

Bellamy busies himself straightening the living-room, picking up her clothes and leaving them on his bed for Echo to find. 

He's pouring two cups when she appears, wet hair framing her face, rings under her eyes and his faded sweatshirt over her jeans. 

"Feeling better?"

"Yes, sorry. I usually don't sleep over."

She takes a sip and scrunches her nose. "Sugar?" 

"Yes, honey?" is his automatic response and he feels his ears burning with embarrassment as soon as the words slip out of his mouth. Echo laughs. "I need some sugar with this thing, my lieutenant." 

Echo pours five spoonfuls into her mug, settling at the kitchen table while Bellamy starts on the breakfast. They eat in companionable silence, and when they finish, she picks her plate up and takes it to the sink. 

"Leave it, I'll clean after."

"You cooked, I can do the dishes."

"There was hardly any cooking involved, it was toast and jam."

"It's only fair."

So she washes the dishes, and he dries them off, putting them away. Echo corners him against the counter while he is putting the cups away, kissing him like she's drowning. 

And that's the moment Octavia clears her throat. Bellamy bites back the need to groan. "I think that is my queue" mumbles Echo against his lips. She pecks him one last time, sweet and too quick, and saunters away. 

Octavia stays at the doorway until they hear Echo leave.

“How long has that been going on?” grumbles the teen, effectively bursting his bubble.

“Nothing’s going on, O. Do you want coffee?”

She stares accusingly at him. “You have a hickey.”

He touches the tender skin of his throat, tramples the urge to tell Octavia this has nothing to do with her and changes the subject instead. “When did you get home yesterday? I didn’t hear you come in.”

“No wonder. You seem to have been otherwise occupied.”

“What is your problem, Octavia? Spit it out.”

“Nothing! Geesh! Can’t you take a joke?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This belonged to the previous chapter, but I love the sweet note it ended, so I decided to give this snipped its own chapter. Thanks a lot, Octavia.   
> Thing is still unbetad  
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting.


	14. Your place or mine?

 

YOUR PLACE OR MINE

Nothing much changes in his and Echo's relationship after that first night. They continue chatting amiably whenever they see each other in the halls of Az Corp, they keep going out for beers on Wednesday evenings, sometimes Roan joins them, others it's Gustave or Jamie, who are part of the King's security detail and directly under Echo in the chain of command. Every other Friday they meet to watch Cowboys vs. Aliens and eat Tai take out.

It's been three months, and he still has no clue what the movie’s about.

Except today is Friday and Octavia has decided she doesn’t want to go to the movies with Lincoln’s friends. She’s sprawled on the couch lazily flicking through the channels. Bellamy's in the kitchen, trying very hard not to feel disappointed.

_Sorry, my sister’s at home and won’t leave_

_You can come over to my place_

Bellamy stares at the text. He has never been at Echo's - she always says she likes his bed better -and he can't help but wonder what her place looks like.

_Be there in 15._

He parks his mother’s car on a side street and rings the bell.

Echo lives in a downtown penthouse, a few blocks away from the office. The building is relatively new, painted like most buildings in this area a light creme color, with a spacious lobby and chrome elevator. Her door is the only one on the floor. The matt in front of the door is a standard rectangle with the word "WELCOME" printed in black letters. When the door opens, he finds himself inside a magazine add.

The walls are painted a light gray, and the furniture is all white, matching and new. Floor-to-ceiling windows dominate the living/dining room; a leather couch sits across a flat screen with a glass coffee table in between the two. Magazines are tastefully forgotten on its surface.

It looks new, impersonal and cold. There are a grand total of five framed pictures on the fireplace's marble mantel: The first is of a young girl beside two teens. He recognizes Roan's blue eyes and Echo's brown hair, the other boy must be Hector, Roan's older brother. Echo's other stepbrother. The second picture shows a group of girls wearing plaid skirts and polo shirts, a sizeable old-looking stone building in the background. "It was on a field trip to Stockholm with my class," Echo explains, coming to stand beside him and touching the wooden frame with a soft smile. "This," she points at the next one, where she stands with a complicated bow holding a medal, "was when I won the Cadet World Archery Competition."

“That’s impressive.”

"Yeah. I loved archery. I am not sure if I'll be picking up a bow any time soon, though," she rubs the fingers with the missing phalanges, clears her throat and continues. "That one is from my christening. They didn't manage to take a single picture in which I wasn't crying." She's a chubby baby in a white lace dress, face bright red, and her eyes screwed shut. "And that's my parents." Her father is a large, pale man, with a crooked smile, a full beard, and a beer belly. Her mother is delicate-boned with round features and full lips. Her bright blonde hair pulled into a stylish bun. In the picture her head is thrown back, eyes closed and laughing in a way Bellamy can nearly hear.

"I never knew her. Died in a freak accident when I was two. But papa loved her, wanted to leave Nia for her. She must have been special.”

Bellamy swallows the lump in his throat, the death of his own mother still a raw wound in the back of his mind. “I am sure she loved you a lot.”

Echo rests her head on his shoulder, and it's only natural that his arm comes around her to rub at her arm. "We should do something before the mood gets completely ruined for the night."

“I don’t know, we could always get drunk and swap sad family stories.”

“I think I prefer sex. This place is too cold for sad family stories.”

The doorbell jolts them, and she plants a kiss on his shoulder before leaving to open the door. "I hope you don't mind that I have gotten pizza."

“I love pizza.”

He wanders around the living room, listening to Echo speak to the delivery guy. She brings the food a moment later and they sit on the couch to eat their food directly from the box.

“So, are you excited for your trip?”

“Like you can’t imagine. I must warn you, I will probably flood your phone with pictures.”

“I hope so. I don’t think I will ever travel that far.”

"Who knows? Maybe you will." They lapse into silence for a few minutes and then: "Would you drive me to the airport? Usually, it's Hector who does it, but he and Roan will be stuck in a meeting all evening and…"

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Her smile lights her eyes up like a Christmas tree. When she kisses him, she tastes like pepperoni and mozzarella cheese.

 

Echo's room is as pristine and impersonal as the rest of her flat. The large windows illuminate the most massive, most comfortable bed Bellamy has ever slept in, a white vanity, a bookcase and the sliding doors of a built-in-closet. On the matching nightstands are matching lamps, on her side of the bed, there's a book and a pair of reading glasses, a jar of hand cream and strawberry lip balm.

Echo sleeps curled up around Bellamy, her arm around his middle and her nose buried between his shoulder blades.

He lies cocooned in the softest duvet he’s ever touched, warm and content, completely relaxed, his mind drifting in and out of consciousness.

At some point Echo emits a low keening sound, her hand clawing at his sternum, whole body shuddering. Bellamy turns around in her arms, and when he touches her shoulder to wake her up, the woman latches herself to him, hands tangling in his hair. She sobs quietly and Bellamy isn't sure if she's awake, but he strokes her back and mumbles reassuring nonsense into her hair until she relaxes and he falls asleep.

Next time he wakes he’s flat on his back, Echo sprawled on top of him, lips slightly upturned. He runs a hand through her thick hair, it’s soft and shiny and Echo all but purrs when his fingers massage her scalp.

Bellamy enjoys sleeping with Echo as much as he enjoys having sex with her, as much as he enjoys talking to her, being quiet beside her, feeling safe in her arms. And at this moment, suspended between sleep and wakefulness he's conscious that this arrangement will never work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting ;D


	15. Snippets across the universe

_Just landed. Waiting for luggage._

_Thank you for bringing me to the airport_

_Don’t mention it_

_Have fun!_

_**_

_Saw a cute dog and had to think of you._

_Tokio is so beautiful_

_I’ve been to he otaku quarter_

_These people are weird_

_Weird how?_

_They have weird vending machines and machines in general here a few pics_

_So you can get an idea_

_Lol_

_But are you having fun?_

_Yes!_

_It’s everything I ever dreamt_

_***_

_I am at a small teashop in Takayama._

_I am in love_

_In an hour I leave for Shirakawa-go_

_And the day after tomorrow I’ll be in Kioto._

_I am green with envy._

_And bored as hell._

_Sorry for not answering sooner._

_I know you are usually sleeping when I write_

_Or you should be. Why are you awake?_

_I’m trying to study. It’s not working_

_Want me to question you?_

_I haven’t been able to memorize anything_

_So no_

_But thanks_

_Tell me what have you been up to_

_Well_

_Arrived here at 5 in the morning, rented a bike and have been riding around all day._

_The area is amazing, so green and vibrant._

_The town is like it’s been plucked out of a fairytale. And Shirakawa-go I have been wanting to go since forever_

_Can’t wait._

_Now go to bed!_

_Yes, ma’am!_

_****_

_You can’t just send me a picture of you in a kimono out of nowhere_

_Why? Don’t you think it’s beautiful?_

_That’s exactly the problem._

_If you think that one was cool, wait ‘till you see this one._

_One of the girls who helped me put it on has a thing for artistic photography._

_She made photos the whole time._

_Oh._

_My_

_Gods_

_I take it you like it._

_You should get this framed_

_You look spectacular._

_Flatery will get you everywhere._

_Where are you today_

_?_

_My second night in Kioto, I spent the day in Nara_

_Tomorrow is daytrip to Hiroshioma and Miyahima._

_Can’t believe it’s almost over already._

_Just another reason to enjoy it as much as you can_

_That and the bragging rights when you come back_

_I wish I could be sharing this with you_

_You and me both_

_Maybe next time?_

_Definitely_

_***_

_I hate airports_

_I feel you_

_Welcome back btw_

_I hate that my trip is over_

_It’s back to the office with you._

_Apparently Nia has been especially nasty the last two days._

_So glad you stuck me on surveillance._

_We need to work on your encouragement skills_

_My encouraging skills are amazing_

_Sure they are._

_Movie night on Friday?_

_I need something to look forward to._

_I was thinking I could treat you to some movie tonight_

_I don’t know when I will reach home._

_It’s pretty late rn._

_Look up._

 


	16. The Postcard

“To my Lieutenant: a promise is a promise.”

The postcard appears in the mail a month after Echo returns from Japan.

It’s your typical postcard, with a picture of Mount Fuji and “GREETINGS FROM JAPAN” boldly printed on the front. The edges are worn and crinkled from the trip and the stamps depict an ornate dog, a landscape and a lighthouse. His address is neatly put down on the dotted lines under the stamps. Round vowels and harsh T's with just a tiny hint of filigree under the Y's and at the bottom of the S'.   

Echo has written those eight words with her neat handwriting, purpose, and confidence in every sharp line crossing a T, sensuality in every carefully crafted S, and a hint of something else in the firm strokes composing the L. 

“To my Lieutenant: a promise is a promise.”

Bellamy stares at the simple words for an hour, his mind reeling, his heart galloping in the back of his throat.

She remembered. She remembered a conversation they had while she was nearly unconscious, during a time they both fight not to think about. Not only that, but she cared enough to go to a kiosk and search for a nice postcard. To remember his address and spend money on stamps, to go to a mailbox and send it. Even though she couldn't have missed him that much since they were talking daily. Even though he didn't remind her or bring it up - he had already forgotten he ever asked for a postcard. She cared enough to write him those eight little words. 

Something in his chest-area twitches and he feels tears prickling in the back of his eyes.

He runs his fingers over the edges of the cardboard, trying to wrap his head around the fact that she cared enough to do this for him. To give him her time without asking for anything in return. 

Later he carefully fits the postcard into the pages of his favorite book, letting it rest on the words of his favorite passage. He closes the book, stroking the worn covers. All his favorite words neatly packaged inside these beautiful leather-bound copy. Savely preserved from harm and _his_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	17. The Stray

“Hi, Mom”

Bellamy jumps nearly a foot in the air at the voice.

The flickering porch light casts harsh shadows on the long nose and shaggy hair of the thin man it belongs to. His too-large eyes are sunken in, one of them nearly shut with how swollen it is.

It’s been nearly two years since Bellamy last saw him, but he would recognize him anywhere.

“Murphy?” He’s dressed in torn, mud-splattered jeans and a worn black hoodie, his hands buried in its pouch, from his shoulders hangs a backpack that has seen better days. When he smiles, his split lip starts bleeding. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I will just…” he swallows, and he looks as young and lost as he did when he first met him. Bellamy feels his heart breaking for this young man. They might not have been as close as him and Miller, but Murphy was part of his squad, he was not always reliable, not always trustworthy, but he was smart and funny and got them out of some tight spots with his cocky smile and sharp tongue.

“Why don’t you come inside?”

Murphy follows, his eyes jumping from shadow to shadow, taking everything in like a frightened dog. When Bellamy touches his shoulder, offering him a frozen pea bag for his eye, he flinches.

“Where have you been?”

Murphy presses the frozen peas to his face with a groan. “The City of Light.”

“New York?”

The bag muffles his dark chuckle. “I wish. No, the City of Light is a complex forty miles east of Polis. They were supposed to help my mom, and I reconnect. It turns out it was a cult Jaha, and some weird lady has going on.”

“I thought Jaha, and you had a falling out before he left the army.”

“We did. But he called, said that he had helped my mom and that she wanted me to come back, she wanted me to give her a second chance.”

“Murphy, your mother tried to set you on fire.”

“I know but-“ he shrugs, defeated. “I went. Lost my job and the scholarship I had and moved to the COL. Jaha had my mom, and I share a small cabin-like loft. It was fine at first. And then it stopped being fine.” He pulls on the frayed cuffs of his sweater. “I tried to leave, but they had taken control of all my accounts. And when I told Jaha just to let me go, he ‘revoked our outside-time until you are more agreeable.’ Mom was pissed.” He swallows. “I managed to get away, climbed up the chimney. I ran like hell. And then kept running.”

“Gods.”

Murphy puts the bag down, fidgets with the straps. “I remembered you telling us about your mom’s house and-“ he rolls his tongue over his teeth. “I’ll leave in the morning. I just need a place to crash.”

“You hitchhiked here?”

“I walked.”

“All the way from Polis?”

“It’s not that far.”

Bellamy pushes his hands through his hair. “You can stay as long as you want.”

Murphy can’t meet his eye. He shifts uncomfortably on his chair, works his jaw and tries for a cheery: “What about you? How’s life treating you?”

“I am doing better. My sister is about to get her degree; I am finishing up school myself. Got a good job that’s paying for my degree. I don’t think I can complain much.”

“And then you’ll leave your job to become an underpaid teacher?”

“That depends on O. If she wants to go to college or not. I am lucky; our mother left us the house and the car, so we have a roof over our heads.”

Murphy frowns as much as his swollen face allows. “Your mother passed?”

“Yes, she- ahm. She died after I came back from the Mountain.”

“I am so sorry.”

Bellamy shifts, turns towards the stove, switches it on. “I’ll make some pasta, why don’t you take a shower?”

“A shower would be great, thank you.”

He sets the pot on the fire before guiding his friend out of the kitchen and up the stairs. “You can sleep in my old room. It’s not the biggest one but-“

“As long as there’s a blanket, I’ll be golden.”

He shows him to the bathroom and leaves to fetch some towels. Murphy is taking off his sweater when he knocks and opens. The young man is thin as a rod, his skin taut over his bones. Bellamy had already seen some of the scars, but there are many new ones. The small round marks on his forearms still make him sick to his stomach.

Murphy freezes, and Bellamy feels like kicking himself as he turns his back. Even in the army where they were forced to share close quarters, Murphy was always extremely particular about showing any amount of skin. “I am sorry, I forgot. I’ll just leave the towels over here. You want me to throw something in the washer for you?”

“I don’t have that many clothes on me.”

Bellamy swallows. “I think I can find you long-sleeved pajamas. I’ll leave them on a chair by the door, ok?”

“Thank you,” Murphy’s voice is barely a whisper.

“No problem. Take as long as you want.”

He finds an old, long-sleeved shirt and some semi-decent sweatpants in the bottom drawer and leaves them at the bathroom door. He knocks once before wandering back down to the kitchen to fix something for dinner.

When Murphy comes back down, he looks half his size, engulfed in Bellamy’s clothes – which shouldn’t be the case because he’s more or less the same height as Bellamy. He throws himself on the food as soon as Bellamy sets the bowl in front of him and is in the middle of his second helping when Octavia arrives.

She scrunches her nose at the sight of Murphy, and the young man curls his shoulders up, making himself even smaller. “Who are you?”

“This is Murphy, a friend of mine from the army. He will be staying with us a few days.”

He is half convinced that O will have something snarky and cutting to say, but she holds her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I can't have a the 100 multichapter without my favorite trickster. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	18. The Party

Gustave’s birthday party is a small-ish affair. He has rented a small room in his favorite pub, and only invited a few close friends – Bellamy was surprised to be one of them.

He arrives at the same time as Jamie and his wife Nicole, a large woman with curly bleached hair in an elegant dress that highlights the generous curve of her hip; dark purple lipstick highlighting the whiteness of her teeth as she smiles down at Murphy. “Who is your cute friend?” she asks in a husky voice, dark like melted chocolate.

“This is Murphy.” The younger man forces a fierce smile on his face and makes sure to not offer his hand in greeting, pushing them deeper into the pockets of his pants.

Nicole’s eyes flit questioningly from Jamie to Bellamy and back to Murphy. “Nice to meet you. Are you working at Az-Corp, too?”

“No.”

“He is visiting.”

Bellamy ushers Murphy into the pub. Maybe bringing him was a mistake, but the young man has been cooked up at the house since his arrival two weeks ago, and he’s starting to look a little gray around the edges. Maybe being surrounded by people in a cozy environment for a few hours might do him some good.

The room is large and warm, bookcases laded with worn hardbacks and trinkets lining the wooden walls. Three Tiffany lights illuminate a cozy room full of worn sofas and comfy chairs, finger food lying in tasteful baskets on the half a dozen tables strewn around the room.

Gustave greets them with a big smile, clapping Bellamy on the back, and offering his broad hand to Murphy. “It’s nice to meet you. You are Bellamy’s military buddy?”

“Murphy,” grumbles the younger man, shaking Gustave’s hand.

“Bellamy’s friends are my friends. ”

Echo stands at the back, hair tumbling stylishly around her left shoulder, dressed in a little black dress that makes her long legs look endless. She’s talking to Roan and a petite blond woman in tight pants and a blouse that shows off her generous cleavage.

It takes Bellamy a second to recognize her deep blue eyes and the soft dimple in her chin, enough for Roan to wave them over. “Oh, my god!” Clarke Griffin’s voice is as deep as it was back in highs school. It reverberates in memories of her leg pressed against his thigh in the library, of a hundred debates and shared ice-cream cones. When she embraces him, it’s like he’s back in the halls of Arkadia High, the long, safe locker-lined corridors and the dark place under the bleachers, the smell of books and her charcoal-covered covered hands, leaving smudges everywhere.

“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in forever!”

Bellamy smiles down at Clarke.

“Ah, you know, here and there. Was abroad a few years. I am working security now.”

“Bellamy is getting his degree to become a teacher,” says Roan with way more pride than he should feel for someone he barely knows.

“Really? I am so happy for you. You’ll finally get to teach all those highs schoolers about history.”

Bellamy smiles and doesn’t correct her. “What about you? Finally a successful surgeon like your mom?”

“No. I dropped out of med school and joined art school instead. My mom was furious.”

“Are you going to introduce us to your friend?” asks Roan turning to Murphy.

“I don’t believe it,” says Echo. “You are John Murphy.”

His flinch is nearly imperceptible. “And you are?”

Bellamy clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry. Murphy, this is Roan King, my boss; ex-classmate Clarke Griffin and my-“ he stutters. (my what? Friend? Boss? Lover? Lady, I might be developing a hard crush on?) Clears his throat and finishes lamely “Echo Linna. Murphy and I were deployed together.”

“Pleasure.”

Gustave spends the night flitting from group to group, introducing people and generally playing host. Murphy stays glued to Bellamy’s side for a while, before going to a corner and trying to merge with the wall. At some point, a small, tattooed woman comes to join him. Over the course of the night, Bellamy makes sure to keep his friend always in sight, paying close attention to the set of his shoulders and the way his eyes flit back and forth. Echo dances through the crowd much in the same way Roan does: talking amiably to everyone for a few minutes, a smile plastered on her face like a mask and laughing at all the right moments. Clarke stays close, which is a relief, because other than Jamie and Gustave, Bellamy doesn’t know anyone, and Clarke gives him the perfect excuse not to join Murphy by the wall.

They catch up, Clarke telling him about her mom kicking her out when she left med school, the “Finn incident,” and her new flat-mate. “I and my mom are back in speaking terms. Have been for a year. And she’s trying to set me up with Roan, which is why I am here tonight.”

“Are you living in Arkadia?”

“No. I am staying only for the weekend. But I might move back once I finish school. I think mom needs me. Our fight hit her pretty hard. I am worried she might do something reckless.”

When Bellamy looks over to the wall, Murphy’s laughing and the tattooed woman has a smug expression on her face. He hadn’t seen his friend this relaxed since before he came stumbling back into his life. Across the room, he catches Echo’s eye, wants to smile, but she turns away too quickly.

He finds her on the way to the bathroom. Leaning against a wall, typing away on her phone. She immediately notices him and straightens, her pleasant fake smile back on. It hurts more than it should. “Hey. We haven’t talked at all tonight.”

He wants to run his hands over her black dress to find out if it’s as soft as it looks. She shifts, slides her phone into a pocket in her skirt. “I know. We’ve been both pretty busy.”

He frowns “Did I-? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. No, of course not.” She clears her throat. “I just figured you would like to catch up with your friend.” She looks away, licks her full lips. “You never mentioned her.”

“What my high school crush?” Bellamy narrows his eyes. “Have you been keeping away because of _Clarke_? The same Clarke who came with your brother?”

“Clarke and Roan are friends since college. Their mothers are trying to make them a thing, but that will never happen. He is definitely not her type.”

“Oh, and you think I am?”

Echo shakes her head, rolling her eyes to avoid looking at him. Then she turns. “You do make a beautiful pair, all high difference, and contrasts.”

“Are you jealous?”

She snorts and rolls her eyes again like he has said something stupid. “You are free of doing and seeing whoever you want, Bellamy, I thought we had established that our agreement was just friends with benefits.” Her words hurt, even though she is right. They are both adults sleeping with each other for company and some relief.

He needs to keep that in mind.

Bellamy slaps a crooked smile on his face. “What is this your ‘go ahead’ speech?”

“If you need one, then you’ve clearly not understood the nature of our agreement.”

This whole conversation feels wrong, but if this is how Echo feels, he won’t let his stupid feelings jeopardize their friendship. The door to the lady’s bathroom opens and out comes the little tattooed woman. “Now,” says Echo, “If you excuse me, I need to see if I can convince Emori to get me an appointment for this century.” She smiles at Bellamy, “You need to book her years in advance.” She starts after the woman. Halfway down the corridor, she turns to look at him and, for a second Bellamy’s convinced she will take it back. Tell him their arrangement isn’t working for her either. Instead, she points her fingers at her with a smile that looks real. “Go get her, tiger.”


	19. Coffee

 

Clarke calls three days after Gustave’s party to get coffee. They meet at the shop he used to work in mainly because it’s downtown and close to her mother’s house – if he grins a little too smugly at his former manager, that’s his business.

They settle into one of the comfy leather couches near the windows with their hot beverages and a pastry to share.

Clarke looks as gorgeous as ever with her hair pulled back into a fishtail braid and a cute blue top with cleavage that should be illegal. They share stories from high school, and she tells him about med school and art school, the trip she did a few years back to work as a volunteer in a school in Thailand. “Working with children is what finally pushed me to abandon med school. It wasn’t _me_ , you know?"

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Anyway, when I came back and told my mom, she flipped. I had never heard her shout like that. So I left. Had to work as a bartender to pay for housing, but, at least I got a scholarship to cover most of the expenses.”

"And you sharing a flat?"

“Well, the flat is hers, she’s renting me a room. It’s close to the campus and, since it’s right on top of her shop, I get a free mechanic.”

They chuckle.

“And you really want to come back?”

“Yes. Polis isn’t for me: too busy and too loud.” She eyes him over the rim of her coffee mug. “I miss Arkadia.”

Bellamy feels his cheeks growing warm, and turns to look at the room. It's not overly full, and most of the patrons are students, typing away at their laptops. A group of teens sits at the back, every so often he can hear them laughing. At the counter, his former boss is serving a tall woman in leggings and an oversized pullover.

"So, what about you?" Clarke leans forward in a way that gives him a fantastic look down the front of her shirt. "You seeing someone?"

His mouth goes dry.

How often did he imagine Clarke giving him that look during his teenage years? How many times did he wish she would corner him between the lockers and the water fountain and-?

"No," he answers looking down at the pastry they're sharing. It's overly sweet and mushy for his taste.

It is the truth. Echo told him in no uncertain terms that they have a casual thing going on. She's probably sleeping around, too. And this is _Clarke_ , not only the homecoming queen but his teenage friend, the leader of the debate team.

He pinches a bite and takes it to his lips. When he notices the way her eyes follow his fingers and linger on his lips, he has to look away.

The woman at the counter turns to go with her order, and Bellamy feels his heart flip-flopping in his chest at the sight of full lips and melted caramel eyes.

Echo smiles as she walks by, her long steps sure and unfaltering, her back straight. Bellamy wants to say something, but she just winks with a smirk and continues towards the door.

Clarke's hand on his is warm and soft when she squeezes it feels wrong. Still, he returns his attention to her, forcing thoughts of Echo back. He isn't doing anything wrong, just catching up with a friend. And if this goes the way Clarke suggests it goes, well. What's the harm in that?

 _Liar_ , whispers a tiny voice in the back of his head.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	20. Disagreement

Murphy finds a job as a dishwasher in a run-down downtown restaurant called The Outcasts. The restaurant is right next to Emori's tattoo shop and is run by her brother.

The pay isn’t terrible, and it gets Murphy out of the house, forcing him into a routine. Slowly but surely the young man starts to act more like his former sassy self, full of mischief and coarse jokes. Bellamy can’t say he minds it.

Shortly after Murphy finds his new job, Bellamy discovers he is a mean cook, who loves spending his free time playing around in the kitchen. When he's nervous, he bakes cookies, which means every morning there's a new batch on the coffee table. And yes, he is a bit messy and all over the place, but Bellamy is glad he has a friend nearby to eat dinner whenever O is late or eating out with her own friends, to talk to and vent about his studies, his work. The fact that Echo is actively avoiding him.

"She left on a business trip with Roan and hasn't texted once," Bellamy grumbles. "And I can't help but feel like it's my fault. I blew it somehow, I gave her the wrong impression, or I became too clingy."

“Echo is the scary lady with the noir eyebrows?”

Bellamy looks up from the stew Murphy prepared – it’s rich in flavor if a little too salty for his taste. “Really? _Noir eyebrows?”_

“As if you haven’t noticed. Those eyebrows judge your soul.”

The older man shakes his head with a chuckle. “Ok, whatever.”

“Look. I haven’t had a relationship in my life, so it is possible I’m being naïve here. But, maybe you should tell her how you feel.”

“I am not risking our friendship over a crush.”

Murphy bites the inside of his lip. “I had a crush on you back in the army.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Did that somehow destroy our friendship?”

He chuckles. “No. It made it awkward at first.”

“That’s because I am awkward.”

He scrubs his hands over his head. “This is different.”

“Different how.”

“I don’t-“ he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t want things to stay like they are. I- I think I-“ Out of the corner of his eye he sees Octavia leaning against the doorframe and bites his tongue before he can say too much. The teen looks bored. “O, are you eating with us?”

She looks Murphy up and down. "Nah. Bellamy, can I talk to you a minute?"

He follows her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom. Octavia starts talking even before he has time to close the door. “How long is he planning on staying?”

“I don’t know.”

“So he’s moved in?”

“He needs a place to stay until he gets back on his feet.”

“It’s been a month.”

“So?”

“So are we renting him the room? Is he living with us? Do I get a saying in the matter?”

“He is my friend. He’s had it rough and needs a place to stay. And since this is my house.”

“It’s also mine,” growls Octavia, hackles rising.

“Yes. And as soon as you start contributing to it, maybe you’ll get to make decisions on it.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s been preparing you lunch every day since he got here, he goes get groceries. When was the last time you did the dishes? Or mopped the floors? You don’t even make your bed, for Pete’s sake!”

"So what? Just because he cooks, he can live here indefinitely?"

“No. He can stay indefinitely because he is my friend. Because I am not some heartless bastard that kicks people out when they are in need.”

"Yeah, you only do that to your family," spits Octavia and like every little barb, every small punch, it hits his mark, and it sucks the breath out of his lungs.

“That is not fair.”

“I know it’s not. But here we are. Nice to see you’ll be there for your friends, but will have no problem leaving your family in the dust whenever things get hard.”

She marches out of the room like a queen, slamming the door behind her back so hard, one of the pictures hanging next to it, crashes to the floor.

The noise so loud it resonates in his bones, it chokes him and drags him down, down down, down-

“Breathe; damn you!”

Blinking disoriented around the room Bellamy takes a shuddering breath.

He's on the floor, curled into a tight ball, his hands white-knuckled on his pants, the fan of his mother's— _his -_ bedroom staring down at him from its place on the ceiling. Beside him, Murphy stares with round eyes and trembling hands. “You OK? You with me?”

Bellamy nods; unhooking his fingers from his legs, he takes another shuddering breath. “Yes.” He is dizzy and disoriented, the aftertaste of rusty water and sweat a memory in the back of his throat. “Yes, sorry.”

“It’s OK, man.” Murphy offers him a glass of water and Bellamy has to fight the sudden bile rising to the back of his throat. He takes it anyway, sipping slowly, forcing himself not to think about dirty towels and the gray walls of an underground bunker. _Safe, I am safe, I am safe. I am home_ ; he forces himself to think fiercely.

"You know, if it's a problem, me staying here. I can leave. I can find someplace to crash and-"

“No. It’s not a problem. This- This has nothing to do with you. Octavia has been angry with me ever since I enlisted. We are working on it.”

Murphy sits back, pulls his legs close against his chest, back leaning against the wall. It feels like being a child, sitting on the floor like this and, for a moment, Bellamy imagines how Murphy must have been as a child: Scrawny, from what he’s gathered, probably underfed, all knees and elbows and sad eyes in torn jeans; a front of bravery on the playground, and tears inside the bathroom stall. He wishes they were friends back then.

“Does she know about the Mountain?”

“No.”

“Maybe she should tell her.”

"No. No, I don't want her to ever know about the Mountain. Those monsters will not come into my home."

Murphy opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but closes it again. They stay in silence for a long time, and it's comforting not being alone, to match his breathing to someone else’s and feel their presence, guarding him, keeping the darkness at bay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and commenting


	21. Date

Bellamy laughs as he takes a sip of his fancy cocktail. The bar is packed, so Clarke has to stand very close to him for them to be able to hear each other over the music. And it's only natural that his arm goes around her shoulders, tugging her close.

She’s dressed in an unimaginative dress, her hair braided back and sparkly eye shadow making her blue eyes pop. She leans close to whisper in his ear, her lips brushing his skin and her warm breath fanning on his skin. His body is clearly interested as it pulls her closer, but his mind keeps wandering off.

 _Echo’s ass is prettier_.

The thought pops up in his mind so out of left field, he nearly loses his grip on the cold glass.

He laughs softly praying it’s the correct answer to whatever it is she just said and Clarke’s blue eyes sparkle.

“Do you want to go someplace quieter?”

 _No,_ whispers a tiny voice in his mind.

“Yes,” says his mouth.

She tips her head up to peck him on the lips, chaste and warm and promising, before taking his hand in her little pale one and towing him towards the door.

His thumb runs along the smooth scar-free back of her hand, over her little knuckles as they push the door open.

It is quieter here, darker, too and a pair is already using the first steps of the staircase to get better acquainted.

Echo would smirk at him over her shoulder. If she were feeling especially playful, she would whistle as they walk by.

Clarke, on the other hand, turns bright red, pulling him towards the deeper shadows into a more secluded corner.

"You, "she says dragging him down by the front of his shirt, "are distracted."

"I am not," he growls into her mouth, their lips crashing together. She is warm and soft and pliable, she smells of strawberries and paint. When she rakes her ten fingernails through his scalp, his body surges forward with a groan, and she smiles that infuriating little smile that used to make him want to antagonize her back in high school.

Bellamy bites her bottom lip in retaliation, his hands wandering down the generous curve of her hips.

 _This is wrong_.

He pulls back, only for Clarke to chase his lips, pulling his hips flush against hers.

_This is very wrong._

“Clarke, wait.”

She whimpers, but this time, when he leans back, she lets him.

“What is it?”

She's hidden in the shadows of the corner, but when he tips his head to the side, the light catches on her hair – almost silver it's so pale - her fair skin flushed and swollen lips half open. She is beautiful with her striking blue eyes and scandalous curves all in the right places.

She is funny and smart and everything he ever wanted.

Except.

Bellamy takes another step back. "I can't."

Her frown is almost childish. He misses the sardonic arch of an eyebrow he would get from Echo. The low _'explain_ ,' that's almost like an order, but never quite as harsh. _'It's evident that you_ can _. Why don’t you_ want _to?'_

Clarke drops her hands to his elbows.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“This. This is wrong.”

He retreats a little more, and Clarke's hands clamp down on his elbows. She isn't used to not getting her way and won't let go without a satisfactory answer.

 _Echo would’ve backed away already_.

“I can’t do this with you. It feels wrong.”

Clarke laughs. "Why? We are both consenting adults here." She looks at him through her long lashes, and his body flushes with interest. "Two adults having fun."

Bellamy looks away, feeling his cheeks burn. He should’ve listened to Murphy. He should never have come. “There is someone else.”

This makes her drop her hands, a frown appearing around her cute little mouth. “You said you weren’t seeing anyone.”

“I am not.” He swallows. “But I am – I have feelings for someone else and this-“ he makes a vague gesture between the two of them. “This feels too much like cheating.”

Her face goes through half a dozen emotions in the span of half a second, settling finally in disappointment. She wets her lips. "All right. I-I think I'll go home now."

“Let me drive you?”

Clarke shrugs and heads downstairs towards the exit. Bellamy follows two steps behind, feeling like a heel and knowing there was really nothing else he could have done.

Clarke doesn’t say a word until they’re in his car driving towards her mother’s house.

“Thank you;” she whispers.

“What for?”

"For not being a cheater?" she chuckles darkly rubbing her hands over her face. "This is- I think I'll swear off guys forever." He chances a look at her but has to turn quickly to not slam into the car in front of them. "The last guy I went out with? Turns out I was his side-piece while his girlfriend was overseas."

“Gods, I am so sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He pulls over in front of her house. "I am sorry, Clarke. I-" he sighs. "I don't think I have a chance with her. I am trying to get over her, that's why I went out with you. But."

"But you love her. I get it." She kisses his cheek. "Thanks for dinner and for the drinks. I had fun." He nods. "Let's keep in touch? We can be friends. Tell me if you ever get lucky with this girl." She hesitates. "Can I know who it is?"

“Her name is Echo.”

Her laugh is loud inside his tiny car. “Of course you would find yourself an _Echo_ , you nerd. Wait. Echo like in _Roan’s sister?_ That Echo?”

"Yes," it comes out more defensive than it should, and Clarke smiles, soft and kind.

“I think it will all work out. Good night, Bellamy.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting!


	22. Presents

PRESENTS

 

“Mr. Blake!”

Bellamy freezes as Hector King strides down the hall towards him. Az-Corp’s CEO is a large man, with stylishly cropped blond hair and fierce blue eyes. He doesn’t have any of Roan’s easy-going façade and is instead a terrifying 6’4 foot presence of controlled power and rippling muscle.

Since he started working at Az-Corp, Bellamy hasn’t exchanged ten words with the man and he’d rather it stayed that way.

“A word in private.”

He follows the man down the hall and into an empty conference meeting, the glass desk in the middle ominously vast. When Hector turns to fix him with a glare, Bellamy feels himself shrinking.

"What can I do for you?" asks Bellamy, forcing his voice to remain neutral and his shoulders to stay square.

Hector towers over him for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“I hear you and Echo are close friends.”

 _He’s going to break my legs_ , whispers a panicked voice in the back of his head. _He’s going to tell me to back off and never talk to his sister again._

“We are.”

The blue eyes give nothing away, and Bellamy has to fight the urge to fidget.

“Good. Then you know it’s her birthday next Friday.”

“She mentioned it, yes.”

She also mentioned she had plans with Roan and thus couldn’t go out to dinner with him.

“My brother and I are organizing a little surprise party for her. I think she would like it if you were there.”

Bellamy feels himself sag with relief. Hector arches an eyebrow, and he hurries to nod his head. "Yes, of course, I'd love to go."

“Good. It’ll be at her house, do you need the address?”

“No, er- I’ve been at her house already.”

“That’s what I thought.” He slips one of his large hands into the inside of his blazer and pulls out an envelope with his name neatly scrawled on the front. “here are the details. Don’t blow the surprise. And be there on time.”

 

Shopping for a gift shouldn’t be this complicated.

Bellamy has been wandering the mall for the half two and a half hours and still has absolutely no clue as to what to give Echo for her birthday. Of course, he has seen clothes she would like, and those shoes are definitely on her radar. But everything feels kind of ordinary, and he wants his gift to be special.

And then it hits him.

 

“Murphy speaking.”

“Hey, Murphy, this is Bellamy.”

“I know that’s why I picked up.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and clears his throat. “Ok. I wanted to ask you if you had Emori’s phone number.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to ask her if Echo managed to get an appointment with her.”

There is a moment of whispered conversation on the other end and then. “Ok, you are on speaker.”

“Oh. Hello, Emori?”

“Yeah?”

"Er- this is Bellamy, we talked briefly at Gustave's party."

“Did she tell you to call? I already told Noir Eyebrows I am booked solid for the next year.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. I wanted only to know because-“ he clears his throat feeling incredibly awkward. How else did he expect this conversation to go? If Emori could squeeze Echo in, Echo would’ve made sure to get the appointment. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Emori sighs “Wait.” He can hear someone mumbling. “Why do you want to know if Echo didn’t set you up for it.”

"I am looking for a birthday gift," he admits. "I wanted to get her something special, and I know she wanted to get inked for some time now. And apparently, you are the best so-"

“Flattery will get you very far, Bellamy.”

“As far as I know it’s the truth.”

Emori chuckles. Murphy mumbles indistinctively, and she sighs. "Ok. I can get you an appointment. Payment up front, and if she doesn't show, you lose both the money and the chance."

“OH! Yeah, that would be great!”

"I don't work on Sundays, but she can come over to my place. How about in two weeks, ten in the morning?"

“Yes. Yes, that’s perfect.”

“I’ll accept a transference, John will email you my details and address. She has to be on time. I get grumpy when people make me wait.”

“She is very punctual. The thing is, I don’t know exactly what she wants to get done. I know the placing is on her back.”

“This better not be lettering. I will kill someone if she makes me get out of bed for _lettering._ ”

“I am pretty sure it’s not lettering.”

“Ok. John will send you the information. Since you don’t know what the piece is or how big it’ll be I’ll charge you for a small one now and tell you how much it’ll be after, are we good?”

“No problem.”

“Good. And you are helping me move.”

“You are moving?” asks Murphy on the other side of the line.

“Not yet, but when I eventually move, Bellamy is helping.”

“Ok.”

“Good, then we are agreed.”

“Thank you, Emori.”

Her voice is soft and kinder when she answers. “God forbid I stand in the way of true love.”

Bellamy’s still gaping when she hangs up.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	23. The Storm

Bellamy hates rain.

He’s sprawled on the couch, his leg propped up with pillows and a warm compress pressed to his thigh. It feels like someone’s stabbing it. He’s trying to concentrate on his book, but his mind keeps wandering down to his bloody leg.

He hears Octavia and Lincoln walking down the stairs and straightens, putting the compress away and standing even though he really doesn’t want to put weight on the throbbing leg. It’s usually never this bad.

“You leaving?”

“Yeah, I told my mom I would come home early to dinner.”

Outside thunder roars. “I’ll drive you home. It’s raining cats and dogs.”

“You don’t need to worry, Bellamy. I can…”

“It’s not safe on that deathtrap you call a bike. I insist.”

He takes a step forward and knows he won't be able to drive. Lincoln must see it too because he picks the keys from the bowl beside the desk. "I can borrow your car if that makes you feel better? I'll pick O up from school tomorrow and leave it here in the afternoon. Bellamy feels himself sag with relief. He leans on the doorframe, to put his weight off the stupid leg. It hasn't bothered him this much in the last year and a half, maybe he should go see his rehab doctor again.

“Ok. You’ll be careful.”

“Yes. Of course, I have a game on Wednesday. I can’t miss it.”

“Call me when you get home.”

Lincoln smiles down at Octavia, pulling her closer. “You’ll be asleep by then.”

“But I’ll see it in the morning.”

There is something undeniably soft about Octavia when she looks into Lincoln’s eyes, something that disappears as soon as he turns away. Maybe, maybe that’s a sign that his little sister is in there somewhere, a sign that she is still capable of love and kindness, that, she can still love those who deserve it.

Bellamy doesn’t dare move. Doesn’t dare break this moment when he can see his baby sister again without that shroud of angry disdain and hatred.

Lincoln pulls away from the kiss and looks sheepishly at Bellamy. “I’ll bring the car back without a scratch on it. Thank you, Bellamy.”

“You sure you don’t want me to drive you? It’s not far.”

Lincoln's smile is soft. He looks him in the eye and shakes his head. "Don't worry. I got my license, and I will be driving slowly. I could probably walk over."

“Not in this rain, you could get run over by a truck.”

Lincoln chuckles. “I think I would hear a truck coming my way. You worry too much, Bellamy.”

“No. I worry the right amount.”

Lincoln's laugh is loud and bright as he opens the door and marches out towards the old sedan parked on the driveway, besides Lincoln's large motorcycle.

Bellamy and his sister watch the teen pull out of the driveway and onto the road. Octavia closes the door after the taillights have disappeared down the road.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	24. Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This deals with abuse. Proceed with caution

The sun shines brightly on the day of Lincoln's funeral. Octavia stands stock still at his side, eyes puffy from crying, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks.

Lincoln's mother is a small thin lady with a soft face and thick black hair streaked with gray. His sisters are twelve-year-old twins, they play a cover version of his favorite song on the violin, and when one of them drops her instrument from crying so hard, Bellamy's heart shatters.

Is this how Octavia felt all those years he was abroad? Is this why she can't forgive him?

He hugs O close fighting against the pain and guilt twisting in his chest while Lincoln's dad reads his eulogy. Lincoln looked like his dad: had the same large frame and stern mouth.

"Mrs. Woods?" Lincoln's mother turns. She searches his face, clearly not recognizing him. "I am Bellamy Blake."

Her mouth forms a small "o" and shame hits him like a wave. If his leg hadn't been acting up, he would've driven the car. If he hadn't been so self-centered, if he had soldiered through, maybe he-

The worst part is that seeing all the pain he's caused, he's still glad he didn't drive.

"I am so sorry for your loss. Your son-" he swallows the lump in his throat. He wants to fall at her feet and beg for her forgiveness. "Your son was a great guy." He finishes lamely.

"You are Octavia's brother;" says Mrs. Woods slowly, and then her face splits into a watery smile. "Lincoln used to talk about you all the time. He admired you greatly."

Bellamy doesn't know how to answer, a moment later another person comes over to talk to her, and he wanders away.

Octavia is the last person to leave the grave. They take a taxi back home. The silence is suffocating, it twists and wiggles like a living thing, snapping its teeth at them, pulling the air out of their lungs until there is nothing left.

When he clears his throat, it's too loud. Octavia's standing at the door to the living room, her back bowed in grief.

"Do you want me to make something to eat?"

Octavia turns slowly. She blinks at him once, and he knows what she's thinking because he hasn't been able to think anything else since they told him about the drunk driver missing the red light.

She pulls her lips back from her teeth, and he knows what's coming.

It doesn't make it hurt any less.

Guilt shackles his wrists. Shame locks his muscles into place.

"It's your fault!" roars Octavia. "You did this!" Bellamy doesn't have words to explain himself. "He would be alive if it wasn't for you!"

When he falls to the ground, he picks himself back up.

Her words hurt more than the blows. Violence is only a way for her to let out steam. But her words ring true. And, even now, he's being selfish, because he is glad he wasn't driving. He is glad he gets to live. Which is the most horrible part of all: because him being alive means, he is glad Octavia is suffering.

"You are dead to me."


	25. After the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This continues to deal with abuse.

When his alarm clock rings on Friday morning, Bellamy is already awake. He hasn't been able to sleep all night. Bone tired, he rolls carefully out of bed. His face burns and his ribs ache when he tries to breathe too deeply. Silently, he pads to the bathroom. A glance at the mirror reveals the damage, and he knows there is no way he'll be able to hide it at work. One look at him and everyone will know what he's done.

He bites his bottom lip.

In twenty-four years he has never taken a sick day. Maybe if he stays today at home, on Monday, he'll be able to hide the marks with concealer?

Bellamy retreats into his room. His voice is soft and cracked when he calls the office, shame and guilt twisting his insides. He hides under the blankets like a child and hugs his legs closer to his body.

A few minutes later he hears Octavia crashing through the house, banging doors and slamming cupboards in her despair and – finally – storming out. The house is silent after her departure. It breathes a sigh of relief. He closes his eyes, relishing in the quietness around him, the warmth of the familiar walls keeping him safe and hidden from all the judging eyes outside.

At some point he must've fallen asleep, because the next thing he knows, the sun is high in the sky, bathing his room in warmth and someone's furiously ringing his doorbell.

Bellamy considers staying in bed, pretend he isn't here, but the insistent screeching of the doorbell grates on his nerves, so he kicks the blanket off. A glance at the clock tells him its late afternoon. When he crawls out of his room and down the stairs, he finds Octavia forgot to lock the door – again.

Murphy stands in his porch holding a paper bag, his smile freezing on his face when he sees him.

"What are you doing here?" asks Bellamy, voice raspy – maybe he is sick?

"You stood me up for lunch," says the man. When Murphy moved six weeks ago, they agreed to have lunch at least once a month. "I called the office, and they told me you were sick, so I thought I'd drop some broth and see how you're doing." His too-large eyes flit all over Bellamy. "Can I come in?"

He nods, stepping aside.

"I am sorry, I forgot."

They go into the kitchen, where the younger man sets his paper bag down. "Have you eaten?"

Bellamy shakes his head. Murphy nods pulls a pot from the cupboard and fills it with broth from an ugly yellow Tupperware. He watches Murphy move with an easiness he didn't have when he first arrived at Arkadia nearly six months ago. It's soothing, and he startles when Murphy sets a steaming bowl of soup in front of him. "So, what happened?"

A tiny part of Bellamy knows he should tell him. Wants to cry and be weak and let someone else deal with the consequences of his shitty actions. He wants someone to hug him and tell him it'll get better.

As usual, shame wins in the end.

"I fell down the stairs."

Murphy swallows his too-large eyes falling to his hands. "I used to slip in the bathroom," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

This is different. Bellamy wants to argue. You never killed anyone.

He stays silent, picking at the contents of his bowl. "Thank you for dropping by."

"You don't need to stay here," Murphy says slowly still looking down at his fingers. "You can come sleep on my couch for a few days."

"I can't leave. Octavia needs me. She's- I hurt her enough already. I can't leave."

Murphy nods at his hands.

Murphy has big, coarse hands with long, delicate fingers. He wears a black ring around his right middle finger, a small thing he likes to play with when he's thinking.

"I get it, you know?" He swallows, rolls his tongue over his teeth. "When I was eight, I spent my pocket money on the Fantastic Adventures of Elderom The Great comic books. My mom didn't approve, she thought I should be saving for something better. Dad was the one who got me into the saga in the first place. Said it would trick me into reading. That summer I got pneumonia, and for two weeks I couldn't get out of the house. Which was a problem, because issue 348 of the Fantastic Adventures of Elderom The Great ended on a pretty big cliffhanger and I couldn't wait to get my hands on the next one. Mom was working, and I nagged and begged my dad until he agreed to go down and buy it for me. He even said he would give it to me as a gift so that I could save the money for something else." Bellamy's heart clenches in his chest. Murphy's twirls the ring on the desk. The movement hypnotic, the scratch of metal on plastic, unnerving. "Dad never came back. There was a robbery, and he was shot. If I hadn't asked for the comic book. If I hadn't been a little pest, he would still be alive." He licks his lips. "Or, at least that's what my mom beat into me."

"It wasn't your fault, Murphy."

He chuckles without raising his eyes from the spinning ring. "I know that. But some days it's easier to believe than others." He takes a shuddering breath and slams his hand on the ring. He slips it back on his finger. "I know how you feel. But the fact still stands: Lincoln died because a drunk driver ran over a red light in a storm. If it had been you in the driver's seat that night, you would be dead." Bellamy shudders he really doesn't want to hear what comes next. "If your sister would rather you be dead instead of him, then you don't owe her anything."

Once he finishes his soup, Bellamy and Murphy go into the living room to watch a movie. Warm and safe beside his friend, Bellamy feels tiredness washing over him like a wave and dragging him down.  

He sleeps without dreaming, just floating in perpetual darkness that hugs and rocks him.

"He's sleeping."

Bellamy blinks feeling disoriented for a moment. He's curled up under a blanket on his couch, the smell of fresh cookies hangs thick in the air. Murphy's voice comes from the front door. Whoever it is he's talking to, speaks so softly, he can't make out the words. He doesn't want to move from under his blanket.

When he hears the heels clicking down the uneven boards, he closes his eyes.

A moment later he hears a sharp intake of air.

"Yeah. That," says Murphy, quieter now. The hand that brushes Bellamy's curls back is smaller than his friend's, cold and uneven.

"I am going to slaughter her," growls Echo in a tone Bellamy had never heard before."

"Do you want some coffee?"

Bellamy stays entirely still, unsure if he wants her to decline and leave or agree and stay. Her eyes on him are heavier than the blanket.

"No, thank you, I have some errands to run. I just wanted to make sure he was ok."

"I'll tell him you dropped by."

"Yeah, thank you."


	26. Sickness

The third day Octavia is sick in the morning Bellamy decides it's high time she went to the doctor. So he calls a taxi and ushers her into the emergency room. He sits in the waiting room while the doctor conducts her exploration, trying to concentrate on his reading. One more semester and he'll be done with school, and he'll be able to quit his job at Az-Corp and start a career as a teacher like he's always wanted.

His mind keeps wandering, though, too worried about Octavia and her mystery illness to concentrate. Could it be an eating disorder? Is it a part of grief? Is it only something she ate and he's overreacting as usual?

"Mr. Blake."

He jumps to his feet so quickly he nearly falls on his face.

"Yes, that's me."

The nurse smiles kindly, which does nothing to soothe his nerves and everything to put him on worse case scenarios. "Please follow me."

Octavia is sitting in an office with a young doctor. She looks somber and thoughtful, but that has been her default since Lincoln's death. "Are you ok?" he asks, but Octavia doesn't acknowledge the question, and by this point, he's getting used to her silence.

"Good morning, Mr. Blake. I am Doctor Lin. Please take a seat."

Bellamy obeys, fighting the urge to grab his sister's hand. His heart hammers against his ribs; fear nibbling at his muscles.

"What's wrong with Octavia?" his voice comes out harsher than he intended.

The doctor stares at him for half a minute, and he's starting to get really nervous.

"There is nothing wrong with Octavia. She is pregnant."

The words feel like a punch to the gut. They pull all air out of his lungs, making his head spin.

This is impossible. There must be a mistake. Octavia can't be-

"She is seventeen."

This cannot be happening.

"Girls can get pregnant since their first period," says the doctor sardonically.

But Bellamy can barely hear her over the pounding in his ears.

When he closes his eyes, he sees his mom splayed on the bathtub, blood everywhere.

He shakes his head to dislodge the memory.

"Octavia has been using protection." He turns to his little sister, desperate for her to tell him this is nothing but a joke. They've talked about this. Every year since she was eleven.

 _You named her that makes her your responsibility_ "You have been using protection."

Please, he wants to fall to his knees, please tell me this is not true. Tell me you haven't been this careless.

"Condoms sometimes fails," says the doctor, kinder this time.

"But she's also on the pill." He searches O's impassive face. "O? Aren't you, O?"

"I stopped with the pill a few months ago," mumbles the teen staring down at her hands.

No. No, no, no, no.

"You are seventeen. Why would you do something like that?"

She shrugs one shoulder and anger replaces the horror that grips his shoulders. It's easier to be angry.

They've talked about this. They've discussed the dangers and the risks and all the reasons why she should be extra careful.

"O?" _That makes her your responsibility_. "Answer me!"

"Mr. Blake I'd appreciate it if you kept your voice down," the warning is evident in Doctor Lin's voice, and Bellamy forces himself to turn to her, to concentrate on the soft lines of her face instead of on Octavia, sitting meekly beside him.

"Ok, what are our options?"


	27. The Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Topics dealt with: loss, guilt, abuse, and teen pregnancies.

"I want to keep it."

Bellamy looks up from his paper. "What?"

"The baby. I want to keep it."

He sits back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Octavia, a baby means a lot of responsibility. And expenses."

"That's what you are thinking about? The money?"

"No, I am actually thinking about the fact that you are seventeen. You have your whole life ahead of you, and a baby is a responsibility you are not ready to tackle."

"So what? You want me to get an abortion."

"As a matter of fact, yes. I think that would be the most sensible decision you've taken in your whole life."

She sneers at him, her hands clutching her still-flat belly. "You would take this away from me, too?"

Bellamy fights to reign in his temper. "I am trying to give you a future."

"Well if that means killing my baby, then you can shove it up your ass!"

"Octavia, think!"

"IT'S ALL I HAVE LEFT OF LINCOLN!" Octavia's roar slams him against the wall. The fire burning in her eyes pinning him down with the guilt he can barely shoulder. "And you want to take it away from me, too?!"

Fire burns in his stomach, it crawls down his arms.

"Do you really think Lincoln would want you to go through with it?"

"He loved me. He wanted to have a family with me."

"But not now. Lincoln wanted to go to college, to see the world with you." Bellamy rubs his eyes. "One rule. All your life, this was the only rule I have ever set." Octavia crosses her arms across her chest and the fire rolling down his shoulders claws at his throat. "Do you want to end up like mom? Is that it?"

"You don't get to talk about mom," hisses Octavia "after what you got her killed." Bellamy takes a step back, but O is on a roll. She has found her weapon and is ready to deliver the killing blow.

"Mom killed herself."

"Where were you? She needed you, and you bailed on her. Because that's what you always do. You turn tail and leave and don't care what happens to the rest of us!"

"I was fighting to get you a better future."

"Who asked you to do that?"

"MOM DID!” he takes a shuddering breath through his nose. After the outburst he feels a sense of clarity he hasn’t felt in a long time. “She shackled me to you and then left me alone to deal with her screwups when I needed her most." Octavia's eyes are wide. "So, you want to follow in her footsteps. Go right ahead. But you'll be on your own. I am washing my hands."

The crisp morning air slaps him in the face, stinging the cut on his cheek. He blinks and finds himself staring at Echo's door.

"Bellamy?"

He shouldn't be here, shouldn't have come; these are family matters he shouldn't get strangers involved.

Echo's eyes are welcoming, a hint of worry clouding their caramel warmth "What's happened?"

He opens his mouth to speak, to explain that he feels like his world is unraveling, that his sister is throwing her life down the drain no matter how much he fights to prevent that, that he is selfish and doesn't want to take care of another baby that doesn't belong to him.

But something keeps his words lodged in the back of his throat.

You named her. That makes her your responsibility.

Finally, he says: "I had a fight with O. Can I spend the night here?"

"Yes, of course."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	28. Countdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one doesn't deal with any dark topics

Octavia doesn't change her mind and, for once in his life, Bellamy doesn't care.

One

He throws himself into his studies and his part-time internship at Alpha Elementary. He starts spending so much time at Echo's that she gives him a key to her place.

Two

A Friday he takes a train down to Polis and spends two days catching up with his old squad. Dinner with Emori, Murphy, and Echo becomes a weekly event.

Three

Two weeks before his final exams, he and Echo spend the weekend in her family's hunting lodge.

Four

Bellamy feels freedom he hasn't felt in years and his heart races with the knowledge that this is only temporary, that, as soon as the baby comes, he won't have either time or money to spend so frugally on himself, but, for now, he's drunk on freedom.

Five

When he finally passes his exams and is done, Roan of all people throws him a party. Murphy invites Miller, Monty, and Raven; and Bellamy lets himself get wasted.

Roan claps him on the back.

Six

"I expect your resignation letter within the fortnight," he smiles broad and proud like Bellamy's accomplishment are somehow his doing.

Seven

With Echo's head on his shoulder, Raven laughing loudly, Miller and Monty taking pictures and Murphy curled up beside Emori, Bellamy finds that he doesn't care.

Eight

He is happy and proud of himself, and the impending baby is nothing but a dark shadow in the farthest depths of his mind.

Nine

"Bellamy? I am scared."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I tried to end on a positive-ish note, but....  
> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	29. Bathtub

When Bellamy reaches home the whole house is humming with energy.

“O? Octavia?”

A loud groan has him flying up the stairs. He finds Octavia in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat dressed in their mom's old robe – he thought he had packed that away – and a dark girl is kneeling beside the tub, filling it with water.

Bellamy ignores the stranger turning instead to his sister’s pale face. “O? What’s wrong?”

Octavia grabs for him, her eyes wide and terrified, hands shaking. “Bell, it hurts so much.”

He feels his heart tripping over itself. “Is it the baby? Are you having contractions?”

Octavia nods, taking quick, shallow breaths. Then, she screams, a piercing scream that spears soul.

“We need to go to the hospital.” He grabs her arm, pulling on her, trying to help her up.

“No. Not the hospital,” groans the teen and Bellamy feels his feet get cold.

“Yes, the hospital. You are in labor. We need to go. Now.”

“It is ready, Octavia,” announces the stranger. Bellamy had forgotten she was there. Now she stands primly beside the half-full bathtub, a soft smile on her heart-shaped face.

Octavia pushes herself up to her feet, shuffling towards her.

“What are you doing?”

“Gaia knows how these things go,” Octavia pants while the other woman works on the knot fastening the robe. “My baby needs to be born where I was.”

“No. Your baby needs to be born in a hospital. With a doctor that knows what they’re doing.”

“If you are going to keep bringing bad energies into this room, you’ll have to leave.”

“I am not letting you risk your life like this, Octavia.”

The stranger arches an eyebrow at Bellamy while his sister climbs obediently into the tub.

“O!”

“This needs to happen like this. It’s what’s natural.”

 

Bellamy isn’t sure what happens next. Only that his hands are covered in blood and that there’s a small, fragile baby squirming in his grasp. Gaia is a trembling mess, huddled in a corner and Octavia’s eyes flutter.

He looks down a the child as the world tilts and shudders, crashing around him in waves.

“Let me see,” whispers his mom. When he looks up, Aurora’s eyes stare back at him.

 _That’s your sister_ , says the woman in the bathtub without moving her lips.

_Take care of her for me, will you?_

 

The woman raises a hand.

Octavia's long-fingered hand shakes as she tries to grab the baby. He sets it into her arms. Aurora looks down, smiling. Octavia screams. Someone's crying.

“Take him. Take him. Take him. Take him.”

The baby is back in his arms. Aurora? – Octavia? – covers her face with her shaking hands.

Bellamy can’t breathe, his knees buckle under him, but he’s too aware of the tiny body cradled in his hands, so he steadies himself.

He turns to the sink – when did he get big enough to use it without a stool? – And washes the baby – it's a boy. Olive skin and dark round eyes, a button for a nose and ten minuscule fingers. He looks fragile and small – Octavia wasn't this small, or maybe his hands got bigger?

Bellamy dries the baby and goes in search of some diapers. What he finds in O’s room is too big for the baby, but it’ll have to make due for now. He dresses him in a green onesie.

Gaia has managed to calm herself down enough to help O climb out of the bathtub and is helping her dry and shrug back into her robe when he comes back.

“You could’ve died today.”

“Give her a break, she just had a baby.”

Bellamy turns to the young woman. “I think you should leave. And find yourself a job you are better qualified for.”

Gaia drops her eyes and slinks out without any more fuss, for which Bellamy is grateful. He’s too tired, too unstable on his feet to fight. They wait until they hear the door closing behind the stranger.

“You could’ve died today.”

“Like you care,” mumbles Octavia, shuffling out of the bathroom and towards her room. “You have been MIA for months, living your life, leaving me to fend for myself. Again.”

“I do not care. But he might.” Octavia flinches when he sets the baby in her arms. “This is yours. Give it a name, because that is a responsibility I will not take on.”

He closes the door when he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	30. Waking Up

“Hey. Is everything ok? You sort of- vanished.”

“Yeah. Sorry. Did you get home alright?”

“Yes, Roan drove me.”

Bellamy checks the list scrawled on the back of one of his school notes. It’s easier concentrating on the words with Echo’s voice in his ear. At least now he can pretend he’s just running errands. “Listen, I am going to stay at the house for a bit.”

“Why? Is something-?

“Nothing serious. O’s come down with something. She’ll be fine, but I want to be there for her. Until she gets better.“

“Oh, ok. See you on Monday.”

 _I love you_ , he wants to say.

“Goodbye,” is what he says instead.

Bellamy isn't sure why he hasn't told her about O's baby. Over the last few months, he's actively pushing the pregnancy out of his mind, living fast and carefree, telling himself he had finally broken free of his sister's shadow, that he would never go crawling back to her.

And yet –

Deep down he’s always known that, as soon as Octavia called, he would go back, like a well-trained dog. That’s why he hasn’t told Echo he loves her even though they’re practically living together. Bellamy hates himself for it. He hates Octavia, too, for having this power over him. Most of all he hates his mom for putting that baby in his arms and leaving him alone.

Bellamy pays the bill and takes the bags of baby-stuff into his car.

The baby is crying when he gets home: loud shrill and heartbreaking. He should ignore it.

Instead, he opens his sister's door.

Octavia's near tears. "What's wrong? Why don't you shut up!"

“Has he eaten?”

Octavia nods. She doesn’t fight him when he takes the baby, sets it over his shoulder and makes him burp.

“He needs to do that after every meal.” He rocks his tiny nephew as he settles.

“He doesn’t like me,” complains Octavia.

“Of course he likes you, you are his mom. A boy will always love his mom.”

“He likes you better. You know what you are doing.”

“I really don’t.” He sets the baby down beside O. “Have you thought a name yet?”

Octavia shakes her head. "I thought I wanted to call him Lincoln, but Lincoln hated the idea of calling someone by their father's name."

Bellamy nods.

"You don't have much time to decide, we need to send the registration papers."

“What would you call him?”

"No. That's your job. Find a name," he sets the registration papers on the nightstand, "fill this out, tomorrow after work I'll mail them and move the rest of my stuff to Echo's."

He doesn’t mean it. He knows he will never be strong enough to leave O behind. But let her squirm, and fret and beg.

 

***

Bellamy wakes in the middle of the night to the baby’s incessant screaming. He pads into O’s room – she has always been a deep sleeper and must be exhausted after yesterday’s ordeal – and picks the little one up.

Trying to hush him, he prepares a bottle and sits down on the couch, his heart melting as he watches his nephew eating.

“Everything will be fine, little one. You’ll see.“

 

***

 

Bellamy leaves for work that morning feeling sore, exhausted and with a kink in his neck. Octavia is still nestled in her bed, eyes closed and looking at peace for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	31. Betrayal

Bellamy can hear the baby screaming from the driveway. It a shrill, ear-piercing sound that has him sprinting inside, taking the stairs two at a time. He storms into Octavia’s room without thinking and finds the child bundled up in a wicker basket. His face is bright red, back arched and tiny fists balled.

He picks him up, looking around for his sister.

It takes him a moment to process the fact that the mattress has been stripped bare. That the room feels oddly empty.

Maybe she’s doing laundry?

Cradling the baby in his arms, Bellamy drags his feet downstairs.

The laundry room is empty, the washing machine full with the load he forgot to hang up to dry three days ago.

The living room and back yard are empty, too. He goes into the kitchen to prepare a bottle for the baby.

Maybe she stepped out to buy something.

Maybe she went to class.

Bellamy tries to ignore the white envelope carefully propped on the –for once – clean kitchen table. He sits down with his unnamed nephew and feeds him until he's had his fill.

On the table a set of keys and a mobile phone wink at him.

He changes the child’s dirty diapers and puts him in his wicker basket to sleep. He switches the washing machine back on and fills a bucket with water to mop the bathroom.

Octavia’s brush isn’t there.

Bellamy ignores it.

He cleans the bathtub, scrubbing until his knuckles bleed ignoring the fact that O’s toothbrush is missing, too.

When he's done, he walks down to hang the laundry and makes another load.

Three hours later the letter keeps staring at him and Octavia hasn’t come back home.

Bellamy opens the envelope. There’s a folded letter addressed to him in Octavia’s messy scrawl and the Birth Certificate form. Octavia has filled out hers and Lincoln’s name, as well as the boy’s birthdate.

The name slot is empty.

And it dawns on him.

Octavia left.

Octavia has left.

And she didn't even name her kid.

_You named her breast. That makes her your responsibility._

 

Bellamy isn’t sure for how long he sits at the kitchen table while his world crumbles steadily around him. The tears have dried on his cheeks and his head pounds with a persistent headache.

His phone is ringing. When he looks down at it, Echo's smile stares back at him. He has to answer, or she'll know something is up.

“Hey.” Bellamy shudders at how weak his voice sounds.

“Hey? Is everything ok?”

Bellamy knows what he should say: _yes, yes, everything’s fine_. But the words out of his mouth are: “no.”

“What’s wrong?”

He tries to reign his erratic heartbeat, control the raggedness of his breath. “I need you, Echo.”

“I’ll be there in five. Ok? Don’t worry.”

“Everything is falling to pieces.”

"No, it's not. We'll get through this, ok?"

“Yeah.”

He hangs up and lets the ensuing silence close around him, gnaw at his bones and make fun of him.

At some point, the baby wakes up.

Bellamy doesn’t even think when he picks him up and feeds him.

The sound of the doorbell is weird, it comes from far away, from a place that’s beyond the darkness and the heartbreak.

He doesn’t even notice he’s still holding the baby when he opens the door.

Echo looks down at the child, her mouth forming a perfectly round O. And he knows he has lost her forever.

Nobody wants damaged goods, much less damaged goods with baggage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


	32. The reveal

To her credit, Echo doesn't immediately turn tail and leave, but when she comes into the house, her step is careful, and her eye never leave the baby.

“What happened?”

“I am sorry, Echo.”

He sees her fighting to keep her control, pushing all her feelings down, down, down, until her face is just a polite mask. "You have nothing to be sorry for. No strings attached. That was the agreement." She swallows, blinking quickly, casting her eyes around the hall.

Her words make no sense until they do, and their meaning is so bizarre, he finds himself at a loss of what to say. And then, when they finally dawn, he finds a nervous laugh bubbling out of him.

Of course, she would think the baby is his. She doesn't know that she's the only woman he'll ever look at, the only one he wants.

“He isn’t mine,” he says, and it’s better looking down at the nameless child than at her furrowed brow. “He’s Octavia’s.” He sighs. “Come, I’ll explain everything.”

And so, with her sitting at his kitchen table, he tells her about Octavia’s pregnancy and how he had deluded himself thinking he could ever be free of her. He tells her about the birth and O’s insistence to have the baby in the same place she was born. And, finally, he tells her about how he lied to O and ultimately drove her away.

“If I hadn’t made an ultimatum, she wouldn’t have left.”

Echo says quiet, her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall over his shoulder.

“I am sorry I lied to you.”

She doesn’t react, doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything for a long time.

Bellamy expects her to stand and leave and never talk to him again.

“Do you want to keep him?”

Her question takes him aback, his hands tightening around the small form.

“No. Yes. I can’t-“ Echo waits patiently for him to sort his thoughts out. “I can’t just send him away.”

“He is not your responsibility. Not unless you want him to be. Roan has contacts, he could find him a good family, make sure he’s ok.”

Bellamy huffs, sets him down in his basket. "I don't want to take care of him. I don't think I can, I mean, look how it went the first time around. How can I do it to someone else?"

“I don’t think Octavia’s damage is your fault.”

“I have done everything I could and still she-“ He swallows. “I thought I was done, you know? I thought I could start living my own life, that I could-“

_Be a teacher._

_Start a family._

_Tell you I love you._

“I owe it to Octavia.”

“No. You don’t.” Echo stands. Maybe she’s had enough and will leave? “You owe it to yourself. From what you’ve told me, you didn’t have a choice back when Octavia was born. You do now. Nobody will think less of you, no matter what you chose.”

Bellamy sighs, looks down at the baby, caressing his velvety cheek.

With what he has saved over the years to pay for Octavia’s college and the steady income he has at Az-Corp, he can actually take care of the baby, give him a good home, and a stable family – even if it is just the two of them.

"Yes. Yes, I want to keep him."

Echo nods her head. "Ok. First of all, we need to fill the paperwork for his birth certificate. And I'll call Roan so that you can get full custody."

Bellamy looks from the semi-completed form to the baby currently chewing on his fist.

This is his chance to make up for all of his previous shortcomings, to ensure his nephew gets the life he deserves.

“Alexander.”

Echo smiles. “It’s a nice name.”

He writes it on the slot. It is a beautiful name, it looks powerful and strong on the paper.

When he looks up, there’s something soft and beautiful in the depths of Echo’s caramel eyes. She blinks, shaking her head, her smile shifting from warm to business-like. She clears her throat.

“Ok. So. When do you start at Arkadia Elementary?”

Bellamy smiles.

“I am staying in Az-Corp.”

Echo arches an eyebrow. “What?”

“There is no way I can raise a baby on a single teacher’s salary. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You’ve worked your ass off to get where you are. And there is always a way.”

“Yeah’”

She rolls her tongue over her teeth, walking around the kitchen.

"I'll rent one of your rooms. With my salary plus whatever you make as a teacher, there ought to be enough."

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“Good. Because you are not asking. I am offering.”

“Why? Why would you leave your awesome apartment to move in with me and a baby? You don't even like babies."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "I told you I like your place way better than mine. This is cozy. And you didn't spend the last four years busting your ass to become a teacher, only to have it all thrown away when you are so close."

"What is it to you, though? It's my crappy life."

She doesn’t look at him. “I like it when you are happy. All I want is to see you happy.”

“Why? And don’t say that you owe me because of what happened at the cages, because if there was ever anything to repay, you’ve done that a hundred times over already.”

“I know you have such a splendid future ahead of you.” She swallows still staring intently at the wall. “And the children will be lucky to have you. So, if I can do anything to help you get there-“

“What is in it there for you?”

Bellamy knows he's extremely inconsiderate. She has done nothing but help him, and he’s here doubting every motive. But he can’t shake the thought that he’s a pity case; that she’s dishing out charity and that thought burns like acid.

_Never accept charity, from anyone, Bell. And beware of the kindness of strangers. They want to own you, and once they do, there’s no going back._

“I don’t know how to say it, Bellamy.” When she finally looks at him, her eyes are shiny with tears, her lip quivering. The knuckles of her hands around her upper arms white. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Bellamy pulls her into a crushing hug. Her hair smells like her minty shampoo when he burrows his nose in it. Her hands tighten around his back.

 _I love you,_ he wants to say.

“We can make this work,” whispers Echo against his collarbone. “I know we can.”

It's a good idea. And, if it works, he'll get to see Echo every day anyway. He'll get to spend time with her and work on something he enjoys, and he won't be alone. Maybe she'll even help raise Alexander. Perhaps she'll play aunt to him, and the boy will have a semi-normal family.

“I really, really want it to.”

Bellamy feels her smile against his chest. She kisses the spot over his heart, nuzzling closer.

 _I love you_ , he wants to say. _I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting


End file.
